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KING  ARTHUR 


KING    ARTHUR 


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GOT 


PREFACE. 

THIS  book  is  founded  on  facts,  which  happened  a  good 
many  years  ago  in  America ;  the  adopting  parents  were 
American ;  the  child  died  young.  I  have  re-told  the 
story,  with  necessary  artistic  variations,  because  it 
teaches  truths  not  always  recognized.  The  world,  volu- 
ble enough  on  the  duties  of  children  to  parents,  is 
strangely  silent  en  the  far  more  momentous  ones  of 
parents  to  children.  This  simple,  and  in  the  main  point 
true  tale,  may  suggest  to  some  thoughtless  readers  what 
the  Heavenly  Father  means  when  He  sends  to  earthly 
fathers  and  mothers  the  blessing,  and  responsibility  of 
a  child. 


KING    ARTHUR 

NOT    A    LOYE    STOKY. 


CHAPTER    I. 

FULLY  twenty  years  before  the  great  St.  Gothard  tun- 
nel was  made  or  thought  of,  when  Andennatt  was  still 
the  favorite  resting-place  of  travelers  passing  from 
Switzerland  into  Italy,  and  vice  versa,  a  group  of  half  a 
dozen  persons  sat  round  the  table  d'hote  of  the  principal 
hotel  there,  eating  their  rather  meagre  dinner.  For  it 
was  early  in  June,  and  the  stream  of  regular  tourists  had 
not  yet  begun  to  flow. 

Not  at  any  season  do  travelers  pause  long  here,  the 
valley  of  Uri  being  considered  by  pleasure-seekers  in 
general  a  rather  dull  place.  Perhaps ;  and  yet  it  has  its 
charms.  It  is  a  high  level  plateau,  solemn  and  still,  in 
the  heart  of  the  Alps.  Through  it  comes  pouring  down 
the  wild  river  Reuss,  and  up  from  it  climb  three  desolate 
mountain  roads,  leading  to  three  well-known  passes — the 
St.  Gothard,  the  Furca,  and  the  Oberalp. 

The  valley  itself  is  smooth  and  green,  though  too 
high  above  the  level  of  the  sea  to  be  very  fertile.  Little 
corn  is  grown  there,  and  the  trees  are  few  and  small,  but 
the  pasturage  during  the  brief  summer — only  three 


8  KING    ARTHUR. 

months — is  abundant,  and  extending  far  up  tlie  mountain 
sides.  Every  yard  of  available  land  is  cultivated,  and 
the  ground  is  "parseme"  (to  use  a  French  word  for 
which  there  is  no  English  equivalent),  with  that  mass  of 
wild  flowers  which  makes  Switzerland  in  June  a  perfect 
garden  wherever  you  turn  your  eyes. 

But  these  and  all  other  beauties  of  the  place  were  in- 
visible to  the  travelers,  for  a  dense  white  mist  had  sud- 
denly come  down  and  blotted  out  everything. 

"  To-day  would  have  been  worse  even  than  yesterday 
for  those  young  fellows  to  have  crossed  the  St.  Gothard 
from  Italy,  as  they  told  me  they  did,"  said  one  of  the 
three  quiet  English-speaking  guests  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  looking  across  at  the  three  voluble  Italians  at  the 
foot  of  it. 

"Scarcely  more  detestable  weather  than  when  we 
crossed,  doctor.  My  wife  has  taken  all  these  five  days 
to  get  over  it ;  and  is  hardly  well  yet." 

"  Oh  yes,  dear,"  said  the  lady — the  only  lady  at  table 
— small  and  ordinary  in  appearance,  but  with  a  soft 
voice  and  sweet  eyes,  which  continually  sought  her  hus- 
band's. He  was  tall,  thin,  and  serious:  in  fact,  had 
taken  the  head  of  the  table  and  said  grace  in  unmistak- 
able clerical  fashion.  He  looked  the  very  picture  of  an 
English  clergyman,  and  she  of  a  clergyman's  wife.  One 
seemed  about  forty,  the  other  fifty  years  old. 

The  third  traveler,  addressed  as  "  Doctor/'  was  not 
English,  though  he  spoke  our  language  with  a  far  better 
pronunciation  than  most  of  us  do.  But  he  spoke  it  with 
a  slight  nasal  twang,  said  to  be  inevitable,  in  conse- 
quence of  climate,  with  our  Transatlantic  cousins.  Also 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  9 

lie  had  a  gaunt,  lean,  dried-up  appearance ;  but  his  long 
bony  limbs  were  agile  and  strong,  and  his  brown  face 
was  both  shrewd  and  kindly ;  full  of  humor,  yet  at  the 
same  time  full  of  tenderness,  with  no  small  amount  of 
capacity  as  well. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Trevena,  I  guess  we  had  the  devil's 
own  weather,  (begging  your  pardon !)  that  day  we  crossed 
from  Italy.  When  the  snows  begin  to  melt  the  Pass  is 
worse  and  more  dangerous  than  in  the  middle  of  winter. 
And  in  addition,  we  had  that  soaking  rain.  I  am  sure  I 
was  drenched  to  the  skin  for  eight  mortal  hours.  Med- 
ically speaking,  I  wonder  any  one  of  us,  especially  the 
women,  came  through  the  journey  alive.  But  you  say 
you're  all  right  now,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Trevena,  smiling.  She 
seemed  a  person  so  accustomed  to  be  "  not  strong,"  that 
she  preferred  to  smile  at  illness,  and  make  as  light  of  it 
as  possible.  "  I  only  hope  the  other  two  women — the 
only  women  who  were  in  the  sledges  besides  myself — 
came  off  as  easily.  I  suppose  they  went  on  at  once,  for 
I  have  not  seen  them  in  the  hotel  since.  Have  you,  Dr. 
Franklin  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor.  He  was  not  a  man  of  many 
words. 

"  Are  they  here  still,  do  you  know  ? " 

"Yes,"  he  answered  again,  with  still  greater  abrupt- 
ness and  brevity. 

"  I  wish  I  had  known  it,  and  I  would  have  inquired 
how  they  were.  I  felt  so  sorry  for  the  lady — she  was 
certainly  a  lady,  though  she  was  shabbily  dressed,  and  so 

muffled  up,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  see  her  face. 
1* 


10  KING  ARTHUR. 

The  old  mulatto  woman,  who  seemed  her  maid,  was  very 
anxious  over  her.  They  had  not  half  wraps  enough — 
yet  when  I  offered  her  a  rug  she  refused  it  with  a  mere 
shake  of  the  head.  She  couldn't  be  English,  or,  hearing 
me  speak,  she  would  surely  have  spoken." 

"No— not  English." 

"  What  was  she  then  ?     German  ? " 

"American.  My  dear  lady,  you  will  not  find  two 
mouthfuls  on  that  poulet.  It  looks  more  like  an  over- 
grown sparrow ;  really,  the  food  here  is  abominable." 

"  No  wonder,"  said  the  clergyman  mildly.  "  I  be- 
lieve they  have  to  carry  up  nearly  everything  from  the 
valleys  below — several  thousand  feet.  Nothing  will  grow 
here — not  even  the  chickens.  What  a  place  Andermatt 
must  be  to  live  at  in  winter ! " 

"  Yet  they  do  live  here.  Madame  told  me  to-day — 
so  far  as  I  could  understand  her  English — I  wish  I  spoke 
better  French,  Austin ! — that  they  keep  the  hotel  open 
all  winter.  Her  elder  children  go  to  school  at  Lucerne, 
but  the  two  little  boys  learn  from  the  pasteur  here. 
They  go  to  him  every  day  in  a  sledge,  drawn  by  Juno,  the 
huge  St.  Bernard  who  is  always  lying  at  the  hotel  door." 

"  Listen  to  her !  "  said  the  grave  clergyman,  turning 
upon  the  little  sweet-faced  woman  an  affectionate  look. 
"  I  do  believe  if  my  wife  were  dropped  down  in  the  wilds 
of  Africa,  within  three  days  she  would  have  made  friends 
with  all  the  blackamoors,  big  and  little — especially  the 
little  ones — have  found  out  all  their  affairs,  and  been 
made  the  confidante  of  all  their  sorrows." 

"  In  the  language  of  signs — as  now,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Trevena. 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  11 

u  Never  mind,  ma'am ;  you  manage  somehow.  Ma- 
dame's  poor  little  boy  with,  the  broken  leg  and  his 
German  bonne  look  out  for  your  daily  visit  with  great  ex- 
citement. I  guess  they'll  miss  you  when  you  go  away." 

"  And  I  shall  miss  Andermatt.  I  like  the  place  ;  it 
is  so  quiet — so  utterly  out  of  the  world.  And  the  hotel- 
people  are  so  simple  and  good ;  I  seem  to  know  all 
about  everybody." 

"  Do  you,  ma'am  ? "  said  the  doctor,  with  a  sharp 
questioning  look,  which  fell  harmless  on  the  innocent 
face ;  then,  apparently  satisfied,  he  added,  "  How  valu- 
able your  wife  must  be  in  your  parish  at  home,  Mr. 
Trevena!" 

"  Invaluable — except  that  it  is  so  small  a  parish.  But 
we  hope  for  a  better  living  by  and  by.  "We  have  been 
hoping  all  our  lives,"  added  he,  with  a  slight  sigh. 

"  But  we  do  sometimes  get  what  we  hope  for,  Austin," 
said  his  wife.  "You  cannot  think,  Dr.  Franklin,  how 
he  has  enjoyed  his  three  months'  chaplaincy  at  the 
Italian  lakes — such  a  lovely  spring !  and  we  are  going 
back  to  a  second  spring — or  rather  summer — in  England. 
"We  live  in  the  country — in  Cornwall." 

"  A  region  which  very  likely  Dr.  Franklin  never  heard 
of;  but  we  think  a  great  deal  of  it,  being  both  of  us 
Cornish-born,"  said  Mr.  Trevena.  He  wras  a  little  slow 
in  speech  and  formal  in  manner — this  old-fashioned 
English  gentleman;  and  the  quick,  keen,  energetic 
American  regarded  him  with  the  interest  of  a  student  of 
human  nature,  who  had  discovered  a  new  phase  thereof. 
They  were  very  different ;  but  both  being  rarely  honest 
and  good  men,  they  had  fallen  into  a  sort  of  liking  ;  and 


12  KING   ARTHUR. 

during  the  six   days  they  had  been  weather-bound  at 
Andermatt,  had  become  tolerably  intimate. 

Their  not  too  luxurious  meal  over,  the  three  English- 
speaking  inmates  of  the  hotel  still  sat  on  at  the  table 
d'hote;  comparatively  silent — at  least  when  contrasted 
with  the  voluble  young  Italians  below. 

"What  can  they  be  talking  about,  so  fast  and  furious' 
— almost  as  if  they  were  going  to  fight  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Trevena,  somewhat  amused,  while  her  husband  looked 
annoyed — as  a  Briton  often  does  at  anything  foreign 
which  he  does  not  understand.  But  the  more  cosmop- 
olite American  only  laughed.  He  had  traveled  through 
many  lands  on  both  sides  the  ocean ;  he  spoke  at  least 
three  Continental  tongues,  and  had  been  a  great  help  in 
that  and  other  ways  to  the  English  parson,  who  knew 
no  modern  language  but  his  own. 

"  "Why  cannot  people  converse  without  gesticulating 
like  savages  and  looking  as  if  they  were  about  to  tear 
one  another  to  pieces,"  observed  he,  in  some  irritation. 

"Not  at  all !  "  laughed  the  Kentuckian.  "  They  are 
the  best  of  friends.  Two  of  them  belong  to  the  Teatro 
at  Milan,  sent  in  pursuit  of  a  singer  there,  who  has 
broken  her  engagement,  and  gone  off,  it  is  supposed,  to 
London  or  Paris  in  search  of  a  better  one.  They  don't 
think  her  flight  implies  anything  worse  than  love  of 
money;  they  say  the  Signora  had  no  lovers — only  a 
husband,  and  perhaps  a  bad  one." 

" Poor  lady !  "  said  Mrs.  Trevena.  "But  if  she  were 
a  real  lady  she  would  never  be  an  opera-singer.  What  a 
dreadful  life  it  must  be !  " 

The  doctor  laughed  in  his  dry  way — he  was  more  of  a 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  13 

laughing  than  a  weeping  philosopher,  and  of  practical 
rather  than  sentimental  mind — then  looked  at  his  watch. 
"Excuse  me;  I  have  a  visit  to  pay  this  evening." 

"  Is  it  to  Madame's  little  boy  with  the  broken  leg  ? 
Then  I  will  go  first,  just  for  a  minute,  and  leave  some 
pictures  to  amuse  him — poor  little  patient  soul ! " 

"  That  is  just  like  my  wife,"  said  Mr.  Trevena,  look- 
ing after  her  with  a  smile  that  ended  in  a  sigh. 

"Mrs.  Trevena  seems  uncommonly  fond  of  children. 
Perhaps  she  has  left  some  behind  her  at  home?  I'm  a 
family-man  myself;  and  after  two  years  in  Europe  I 
shan't  be  sorry  to  see  those  ten  little  shavers  of  mine  in 
Kentucky." 

"  Ten,  have  you  ?  We  have  none.  We  had  one — but 
it  only  lived  a  few  hours.  My  wife  has  never  quite  got 
over  the  disappointment ;  and  it  was  to  give  her  a  total 
change  for  mind  and  body  that  I  accepted  the  chaplaincy 
abroad.  We  have  only  been  married  three  years,  though 
we  waited  for  fifteen,"  added  the  good  man  with  the 
faintest  shade  of  a  blush  on  his  calm  middle-aged 
face.  "I  was  a  Fellow  of  my  College,  and  at  last  I 
got  a  College  living — rather  a  poor  one.  But  we  are 
very  happy — my  wife  and  I.  We  shall  at  least  end  our 
days  together." 

"  Phew !  "  said  the  American,  repressing  a  low  whistle, 
while  his  kindly  eyes  took  a  curiously  soft  expression  as 
they  rested  on  his  companion.  lie  had  had  a  fairly 
happy  life  himself,  and  his  "ten  little  shavers"  were 
obviously  very  dear  to  him.  "  She's  a  good  woman — 
your  wife,"  continued  he  bluntly.  "So  is  mine.  I'd 
lay  you  a  dollar  against  ten  cents,  you'll  not  find  such  a 


KING   AETHUE. 

mother  anywhere  as  Mrs.  Franklin.  I  wish  all  women 
were  like  our  two,  sir." 

"  I  hope  many  women  are,"  answered  the  mild  clergy- 
man— adding  anxiously,  "  Do  not  speak  to  Mrs.  Trevena 
of  what  I  told  you — her  lost  child.  It  is  a  sore  place  in 
her  heart  still ;  never  likely  to  be  healed.  But  we  have 
made  up  our  minds  to  be  content :  and  we  are  content. 
God  knows  best." 

"I  suppose  so." 

"  I  am  sure  so ;  and  I  am  a  much  older  man  than  you. 
Isn't  it  strange,"  continued  the  clergyman,  laying  his 
hand  kindly  on  the  doctor's  arm,  "  that  you  and  I  should 
have  talked  of  this  and  many  other  things — we  who  never 
met  before,  and  in  all  probability  shall  never  meet  again  ? " 

"  Perhaps  for  that  very  reason ;  I  have  often  found  it  so. 
People  tell  me  things  that  they  wouldn't  tell  their  most 
intimate  friends.  You  have  no  idea  the  odd  secrets  and 
odd  people  that  I  have  come  across  during  my  life.  By 
Jove — what  a  bother  it  is  sometimes !  But  I  beg  your 
pardon — I  was  thinking  of  something  else — something 
not  too  agreeable.  And  now  I  must  go  to  my  patient — 
who  is  not,  as  your  wife  imagined,  the  little  broken- 
legged  boy.  However,  in  our  profession  we  learn  one 
good  thing — to  hold  our  tongues.  Good-night,  sir." 

"  Good-night,  doctor.  You'll  drive  up  to  Hospenthal 
with  us,  as  my  wife  wishes,  if  it  is  a  fine  day  to-morrow, 
and  your  patient  can  spare  you  ?  " 

"Oh  yes— yes.  She "  Here  Dr.  Franklin  set 

his  lips  together  and  clenched  his  fist,  as  if  to  beat  him- 
self for  nearly  letting  a  cat  jump  out  of  the  bag.  "  Cer- 
tainly— certainly !  Good-evening." 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  15 

He  left  the  room  by  one  door  just  as  Mrs.  Trevena 
entered  by  another.  Her  husband  greeted  her  with  a 
smile — the  welcoming  smile  of  those  who  have  been 
necessary  to  one  another  for  years,  who  never  weary  of 
each  other's  company,  because  it  scarcely  is  company — 
the  two  having  so  grown  together  in  all  their  tastes  and 
habits  that  they  feel  like  one.  If  the  little  life  that  had 
come,  and  then 

"  Unto  stillness  passed  again 
And  left  a  blank,  unknown  before  " — 

had  been  a  loss  to  them,  it  had  undoubtedly  but 
"  Made  them  love  the  more." 

That  is,  if  more  were  possible.  But  the  more  or  the  less 
with  regard  to  love  is  a  question  that  chiefly  troubles 
younger  folk.  The  old  accept  it — only  too  thankfully — 
and  cease  to  investigate  it,  or  to  weigh  and  measure  it, 
any  more  than  their  daily  sunshine  or  the  air  they 
breathe. 

"  The  mist  has  lifted,  Austin,  and  there  is  promise  of 
a  good  sunset — as  much  as  the  mountains  will  let  us  see 
of  it ;  and  a  full  moon  will  soon  be  creeping  over  those 
white  peaks  opposite.  Hark! — there  are  the  bells  of 
the  cattle  coming  home.  Are  you  ready  for  a  walk, 
dear?" 

"  Quite  ready,  Susannah." 

"  Shall  we  go  to  the  Devil's  Bridge — or  up  towards 
Hospenthal  ?  No,  for  we  shall  be  driving  that  way  to- 
morrow. I  should  like  to  get  as  far  up  as  the  Hospice, 
and  be  close  under  the  eternal  snows  once  again — see 


16  KING   ARTHUK. 

them  in  sunshine  and  calm,  instead  of  such  a  deluge  of 
rain  as  the  day  we  crossed  from  Airolo." 

"  I  wonder  it  did  not  give  you  your  death  of  cold,  my 
poor  wife." 

"  Those  other  two  women — the  old  and  the  young  one 
— were  worse  off  than  I,  for  they  had  nobody  to  take  care 
of  them  " — and  she  patted  softly  her  husband's  shoulder. 
"  I  felt  so  sorry  for  them.  I  have  often  thought  of  them 
since." 

"  You  think  of  everybody,  Susannah — except  your- 
self. Come  along !  and  as  we  go  you  can  tell  me  what 
you  think  about  one  thing — our  getting  back  as  fast  as 
we  can  to  England." 

"  Very  well,  dear." 

Somehow,  though  she  was  mild-faced,  quiet,  and 
small,  and  he  was  big  and  hale — even  young-looking  for 
his  years — it  was  evident  the  good  clergyman  leant  upon 
his  wife  not  a  little.  And  there  was  that  in  Mrs. 
Trevena's  sweet  composure  which  implied,  not  the  per- 
petual acquiescence,  feeble  and  flaccid,  which  some  men 
think  would  be  so  delightful  to  have — until  they  get  it ; 
but  an  amount  of  dormant  force,  invaluable  in  the  mis- 
tress of  a  household.  She  is  no  "perfect  woman"  who 
is  not  at  the  same  time 

' '  Nobly  planned 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command  ; " 

and  gentle  as  Mrs.  Trevena  looked,  a  keen  observer 
could  detect  in  her  firm  little  mouth  and  quiet,  silent 
ways,  indications  of  strength  and  decision,  which  doubt- 
less would  prove  the  greatest  possible  blessing  to  the 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  17 

Kevererid  Austin.  Not  that  "  the  gray  mare  was  the 
better  horse !  "  for  he  looked — and  was — the  most 
excellent  of  men,  and  clergymen ;  but  it  was  in  many 
things  the  more  useful  horse,  which  fact  often  makes  a 
pair  run  all  the  safer  together.  Austin  Treveua,  a 
student  and  a  bookworm  all  his  days,  would  have  been 
practically  "nowhere"  in  the  busy  world,  but  for  his 
wife ;  who  loved  him  perhaps  all  the  dearer  for  his  very 
weaknesses.  His  strength — which  lay  in  his  brains,  and 
in  a  moral  nature  of  such  high  chivalric  honor  that  he 
would  have  gone  to  the  stake  without  a  murmur  or  a 
doubt — she  more  than  loved — she  worshiped.  It  had 
cost  her  some  pangs,  and  a  good  many  long  lonely  years, 
but  she  worshiped  it  still. 

Enough,  however,  of  these  two,  who  had  been  such  a 
deep  interest  to  Dr.  Franklin,  in  his  capacity  of  student 
of  human  nature,  that  he  had  stayed  on  at  Andermatt 
chiefly  because  they  stayed.  Also  for  another  reason 
which  with  the  reticence  due  his  profession  he  did  not 
name.  When  they  met  him  going  out,  and  asked  him 
to  accompany  them  in  their  evening  saunter  to  the 
Devil's  Bridge,  he  shook  his  head. 

"  I've  got  a  Devil's  Bridge  of  my  own  to  cross — and  I 
wish  to  heaven  I  knew  how  to  manage  it,"  said  he. 
"  Good-evening — I'll  see  you  at  breakfast  to-morrow." 

"  And  go  with  us  up  to  the  Hospice  ? " 

"  If  I  can.     Au  revoir" 

"He  looks  anxious  and  troubled  about  something," 
observed  Mrs.  Trevena,  when  the  placid  pair  went  on 
their  way;  stopping  sometimes  to  watch  the  twilight 
colors  on  the  mountains,  and  listen  to  the  tinkle  of  the 


18  KING  AETHUR. 

cattle-bells,  as,  one  after  the  other,  whole  herds  of  ihe 
lovely  little  Swiss  cows  crept  musically  home. 

"  I  suspect,  my  dear,  that  like  another  person  I  know, 
the  good  doctor  often  troubles  himself  with  the  troubles 
of  other  people.  He  told  me  he  had  a  patient  here — 
not  your  little  sick  boy — possibly  some  case  of  serious 
illness." 

"  I  never  heard  of  any,  and  I  think  I  should  have 
heard.  Madame  and  I  have  grown  to  be  very  good 
friends." 

"But  Madame  is  a  shrewd  woman,  who  probably 
knows  how  to  keep  her  own  counsel,  and  not  drive  away 
her  very  few  customers  by  rumors  of  sickness  or  death 
in  the  house." 

"  Death  in  the  house  ?  You  don't  think  that,  Austin  ? 
If  I  could  be  of  any  use " 

"  You  are  of  most  use  to  me,  Susannah,  by  not  wear- 
ing yourself  out  over  other  folk ;  so  don't  put  on  that 
poor  little  anxious  face,  but  let  us  enjoy  our  walk.  We, 
thank  heaven !  have  nobody  but  our  two  selves  to  be 
anxious  over." 

"JNo,"  answered  his  wife  softly.  But  whether  she 
thanked  heaven — heaven  only  knew.  It  was  one  of 
those  unconscious  stabs  which  even  the  dearest  some- 
"  mes  give ;  and  which  heaven  only  can  heal. 

So  they  strolled  on,  sometimes  talking,  sometimes 
silent,  in  that  happy  companionship — -just  "  one  and  one  " 
— without  need  of  a  "  shadowy  third,"  which  is  the 
solace  of  many  childless  couples,  and  which,  so  long  as  it 
steers  clear  of  that  fatal  dual  selfishness  which  is  the  bane 
of  conjugal  life,  is  a  most  enviable  and  desirable  thing. 


NOT  A   LOVE   STOEY.  19 

They  saw  the  sun  set,  the  moou  rise — at  least  by 
reflection,  for  the  actual  sunset  and  moon  rise  were  of 
course  invisible  behind  the  mountains;  and  then  they 
watched  the  stars  come  out  like  jewels  in  the  great  blue 
arch  which  seemed  to  rest  on  the  high  peaks  of  the  St. 
Gothard  range,  white  with  eternal  snow.  When  they 
returned,  night  had  already  fallen ;  a  glimmering  light 
up  at  Hospenthal,  and  another  which  burnt  steadily  on 
till  morning  in  the  Andermatt  Hotel  below,  alone  testi- 
fied to  the  presence  of  any  human  existence  in  the  silent 
valley. 

JSText  day,  at  the  table  d'hote  breakfast,  the  English 
and  American  travelers  alone  remained ;  the  Italians  had 
vanished.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena  looked  placid  and 
wholesome  —  as  usual — in  mind  and  body;  but  Dr. 
Franklin  seemed  tired  and  worried  ;  or,  as  he  expressed 
it,  "  seedy  " ;  as  if  he  had  been  up  all  night — which  he 
owned  he  had. 

"  But  why  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Trevena,  and  then  drew  back 
and  blushed  for  the  intrusive  question. 

"  "Work,  my  dear  lady — a  doctor's  work  never  ends. 
But  now  I  mean  to  take  a  few  hours'  play.  What  time 
shall  we  start  ?  We  can  drive  up  as  far  as  the  eternal 
snow,  and  down  again,  before  dark." 

«  Easily." 

"  All  right  then.  I'm  your  man.  Off  we  go.  I'll 
halve  the  carriage  with  you." 

"  Certainly  not ;  we  shall  be  glad  of  your  company," 

said  the  English  clergyman,  with  stately  dignity,  and 

despite  his  wife's  rather  pathetic  look — which  convinced 

the  honest,  warm-hearted  American  that  "  halving  the 

B 


20  KING   ARTHUR. 

carriage "  was  a  matter  of  importance  to  them,  Mr. 
Trevena  held  to  his  point,  and  Dr.  Franklin  was  obliged 
to  yield. 

They  started.  It  was  one  of  those  gorgeous  days — all 
blueness  and  whiteness,  and  flooded  with  dazzling, 
cloudless  sunshine — which  in  Switzerland  come  as  such 
a  strange  contrast  to  the  days  of  mist  and  storm.  The 
three  friends,  so  lately  strangers,  found  themselves 
ascending  cheerily  the  mountain,  past  the  tiny  village  of 
Hospenthal  and  the  glacier  of  St.  Anna ;  crossing  the 
wild  river  Reuss,  which  came  pouring  down  the  desolate 
valley ;  and  watching  how  the  vegetation,  at  first  bright 
as  the  colors  of  a  kaleidoscope  with  masses  of  lovely 
unknown  flowers,  gradually  dwindled — ceased ;  until  the 
gray  of  the  huge  boulders,  the  intense  blue  of  the  sky, 
and  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  mountain  slopes,  were 
the  only  colors  left.  The  road  became  steeper  and 
steeper,  and  occasionally  was  fenced  on  either  side  by 
huge  walls  of  unmelted,  and  apparently  never-to-be- 
melted  snow. 

"  You  had  better  put  on  your  blue  veil,  Mrs.  Trevena, 
and  here  is  a  pair  of  blue  spectacles  for  your  husband — I 
wouldn't  sacrifice  my  eyes  for  the  grandest  snow-land- 
scape in  the  world.  !N"or  my  meals  ;  but  I  see  you  have 
provided  against  mountain-hunger.  Is  that  another  fine, 
fat — sparrow  \  " 

She  laughed,  as  people  do  whose  hearts  are  full,  then 
said,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  How  beautiful  all  is  I 
My  whole  life  through  I  have  longed  to  come  here,  and 
now  I  am  here — we  are  here  together,  Austin.  We 
should  be  very  thankful." 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  21 

"  I  think  we  are,  Susannah,"  the  clergyman  said,  in 
his  grave,  tender  way.  And  then  the  two  men — so  very 
different  outside,  and  yet  with  a  certain  sympathetic 
union  at  heart — sat  down  on  either  side  the  little  woman, 
on  what  they  called  a  "  comfortable  "  stone,  just  below 
the  shining  wall  of  snow,  forty  feet  high,  which  reflected 
the  rays  of  the  sun  so  as  to  be  oppressively  warm. 

"  Isn't  it  curious,  Mrs.  Trevena  ?  though  we  sit  under 
a  wall  of  snow  we  are  almost  *  baked  alive ' — as  my  little 
monkeys  in  Kentucky  would  say."  And  stretching  out 
his  hand,  he  washed  down  the  leg  of  chicken  with  a  mouth- 
ful of  snow,  declaring  it  was  "  not  bad  drink  after  all." 

"  Does  this  huge  white  wall  never  melt  ? " 

"  Never  entirely,  ma'am  "  (his  invariable  "  ma'am  " 
and  "sir,"  were  so  anti-English).  "  We  are  just  on  the 
verge  of  the  snow-line — perpetual  snow.  And  yet,  just 
look  at  that  patch  of  blue  gentian — isn't  it  lovely  ?  Are 
you  a  botanist,  Mr.  Trevena  ? " 

"  Oh  no,  but  my  wife  is.  At  least,  she  has  what  I 
call  a  speaking  acquaintance  with  almost  every  flower 
that  grows.  She  knows  their  separate  faces  as  well  as 
those  of  the  babies  of  our  parish, — which  seem  to  me  all 
alike." 

"Not  a  bit  alike,  when  you  are  a  woman  and  love 
them,"  said  the  wife,  smiling. 

"  You  seem  very  fond  of  children,  Mrs.  Trevena." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  quietly — so  quietly  that  the  good 
doctor,  feeling  as  if  he  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  off 
for  the  remark,  rose  and  proposed  a  saunter  a  little 
higher  up  the  mountain. 

"  Decidedly.     And  my  wife  can  rest  here.    She  never 


22  KING   ARTHUR. 

minds  being  left  alone.  I  tell  her  it  is  because  she  finds 
her  own  company  so  pleasant,  and  no  wonder ! "  added 
he,  with  affectionate  courtesy. 

"  She's  a  trump,"  said  the  American — rough,  candid, 
and  kindly,  as  they  walked  away. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena,  he  suddenly  stopped,  and  stuck  his  stick  violently 
into  a  fast  melting  mass  of  snow. 

"  It's  no  use,  sir,  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer ;  I  must 
tell  somebody." 

"Tell  what?"  said  the  placid  clergyman,  very  much 
surprised. 

"  Something  which  I  have  been  expecting  your  wife 
would  find  out  every  day,  but  she  has  not  done  so.  Ma- 
dame has  kept  the  secret  well.  I  have  often  wished  I 
could  tell  it  to  Mrs.  Trevena,  who  has  such  capital  com- 
mon sense  and  right  feeling — womanly  feeling.  Some 
women  seem  as  if  they  had  none  at  all ;  the  fashionable 
life  or  the  public  life — Lord  knows  which,  for  I  don't ! — 
has  taken  all  ordinary  flesh  and  blood  out  of  them.  It 
does  sometimes." 

Mr.  Trevena  listened  to  this  tirade  with  a  perplexity 
which  his  politeness  vainly  tried  to  hide.  "  If  there  is 
anything  you  would  like  to  confide  in  me — anything 
wherein  I  could  be  of  use — according  to  my  sacred 
profession." 

"  Mine  has  its  sacredness  too,  if  people  only  knew  it. 
Many  a  troublesome  secret  have  I  kept ;  but  this  one — 
I  can't  keep  it — I  won't  keep  it ;  for,  in  a  sense,  it's  like 
conniving  at  a  murder.  The  massacre  of  the  innocents  I 
call  it — and  so  I  told  the  woman." 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  23 

""What  woman?"  asked  Mr.  Trevena,  now  thor- 
oughly aroused  and  uneasy — so  uneasy,  that  he  looked 
instinctively  back  at  the  little  dark  figure  sitting  motion- 
less under  the  snow-wall,  his  wife,  with  whom  he  was 
accustomed  to  halve  all  his  anxieties. 

"  No — don't  tell  her — not  till  we  get  back  to  the  hotel. 
You  may  then ;  for,  after  all,  she  will  understand  it 
better  than  you,  or  than  any  man  among  us  all." 

And  then  he  detailed  how  his  mysterious  patient,  on 
whose  account  he  had  lingered  these  five  days  at  Ander- 
matt,  was  a  lady — the  lady  with  the  mulatto  servant 
who  had  crossed  the  St.  Gothard  the  same  day  as  them- 
selves, and  that  very  night  had  suddenly  given  birth  to  a 
child,  with  no  help  except  the  old  woman,  and  no  prep- 
aration for  her  infant  except  a  few  clothes  borrowed  from 
the  kind  landlady  of  the  hotel — who,  at  the  mother's 
urgent  entreaty,  had  kept  the  event  a  secret  from  every- 
body. 

"  But  she  insisted  on  fetching  me,  as  I  spoke  their 
language — both  the  black  and  the  white  woman  are,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  American  born.  I  told  them  in  good 
plain  English  that  they  were  both  fools — or  worse — to 
have  attempted  such  a  journey.  It  was  a  miracle  that 
the  mother  and  child  survived — the  child  nearly  was 
dead — and  when  I  told  her  it  lived,  her  first  word  was, 
that  she  was  £  very  sorry  ! '  A  mother  indeed — a  brute ! 
No — any  brute  beast  would  have  been  more  of  a 
mother." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Mr.  Trevena,  with  a  faint  old- 
bachelor-like  blush — "  perhaps  she  had  some  very  strong 
reason  for  wishing  it  dead." 


24:  KING   AETHTTB. 

"  Illegitimacy,  you  mean,"  interrupted  the  point-blank 
doctor.  "No,  I  believe  not.  She  had  a  wedding-ring 
on  her  finger,  and  in  her  delirium  she  talked  of  '  my 
goose  of  a  husband '  and  '  my  horrid  little  brats  at  home.' 
Therefore,  I  conclude  she  has  both  a  home  and  a  hus- 
band. Though  why  she  should  have  gone  wandering 
tabout  the  world  in  this  insane  manner  is  more  than 
I  can  tell.  Both  she  and  her  servant  are  absolutely 
silent." 

"  About  how  old  is  she  ? " 

"  Just  under  forty,  I  should  say.  Very  handsome  still 
— in  a  sort  of  way.  Has  had  four  children,  but  declares 
she  '  hated  every  one  of  them  the  minute  they  were 
born.'  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  woman  ? " 

Mr.  Trevena  shook  his  head  helplessly.  "  Well,  my 
dear  doctor,  what  can  I  do  ?  Would  you  like  me,  in  my 
clerical  capacity,  to  pay  her  a  visit  ? " 

"  Bless  my  life — no  !     She  would  laugh  you  to  scorn 
— she  laughs  at  everything  serious,  except  when  she  gets 
into  her  tragedy-fits,  when  she  rants  for  all  the  world 
like  a  play-actor — or  actress." 
"  Perhaps  she  is  an  actress." 

"  May  be — I  never  thought  of  that.  But  I  have  not 
thought  much  about  her,  except  as  a  ( case,'  till  to-day. 
It  was  hard  work  to  keep  her  alive  at  all — or  the  baby 
either — for  she  refused  to  suckle  it.  She  said  she  wanted 
it  to  die ;  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  blessed  old  Nanny- 
goat  of  Madame's  she'd  have  had  her  wish  by  this  time. 
Now  I  think  he'll  do,  for  he  is  quite  healthy ;  and  such  a 
fine,  fat  little  fellow.  Many  a  one  of  your  childless  Eng- 
lish dukes — your  6  noble  families '  that  dwindle  down  to 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  25 

nothing  and  die  out — would  give  his  eyes  for  such  a  son 
and  heir." 

"A  strange  story,"  said  Mr.  Trevena  thoughtfully. 
"  May  I  tell  my  wife  ?  She  would  be  so  much  interested." 

"  Yes,  and  ask  her  to  advise  me :  a  woman — that  is,  a 
sensible  woman — often  leaps  by  instinct  to  the  right, 
when  a  man  with  his  long-headed  wisdom  goes  swither- 
ing  to  and  fro,  till  he  finds  himself  quite  at  sea — as  I 
own  I  am.  That  horrible  creature !  What  do  you  think 
she  asked  of  me  last  night  ? — To  take  away  her  child  and 
leave  it  at  the  nearest  Foundling  Hospital — or  by  the 
roadside  if  I  chose,  for  some  charitable  soul  to  pick  it 
up !  She  doesn't  care  what  becomes  of  it,  so  that  she 
gets  rid  of  it.  She  would  sell  it,  she  declares,  for  she 
wants  money  badly — only  a  baby  is  a  drug  in  the  market 
— a  commodity  no  one  cares  to  buy  ! " 

"  What  a  wretch ! — oh  dear,  oh  dear  !"  murmured  the* 
horrified  and  perplexed  clergyman.     "  Surely  she  must 
be  mad." 

"Not  at  all;  she  is  as  sane  as  I  am,  a  capable,  clever, 
healthy  woman.  She  must  have  a  constitution  of  iron  to 
have  struggled  through  these  few  days ;  and  she  is  doing 
very  well  now.  She  talks  of  continuing  her  journey 
immediately." 

"  Where  to  ?    Has  she  no  friends  ? " 

"  None,  she  declares,  except  her  '  fool  of  a  husband,' 
whom  she  left  six  months  ago,  and  has  scarcely  heard  of 
since.  She  refuses  to  give  her  name  or  address.  So — 
what  can  I  do  ?  She  is  my  country-woman,  and  after  all, 
a  woman — or  I  would  do  nothing  at  all.  She  expects 
me  to  give  her  an  answer  to-night." 


26  KING   ARTHUR. 

"About  what?" 

"  About  the  Foundling  Hospital.  There  are  such  in 
Switzerland,  I  know ;  but  I  can't  present  myself  there 
with  an  unknown  new-born  baby  in  my  arms — a  decent 
father  of  a  family  like  me.  And  if  I  leave  the  child  with 
its  mother,  very  likely  she'll  murder  it,  or  neglect  it  till 
it  dies — which  is  as  bad  as  murder." 

"But  there  is  the  mulatto  woman ;  she  may  have  a 
heart  in  her  bosom  if  the  mother  has  none." 

"  My  dear  sir,  had  you  lived  as  long  as  I  have  in  our 
Southern  States,  you  would  know  that  our  niggers  have 
big  hearts,  but  mighty  little  heads,  and  no  consciences  to 
speak  of.  If  that  woman  told  her  servant,  who  is  a  paid 
slave,  to  lie  down  and  be  walked  upon,  she'd  do  it ;  and 
if  she  bade  her  throw  the  child  on  the  back  of  the  fire, 
she'll  do  it  also.  I'm  only  too  glad  she  hasn't  done  it 
already,  when  it  began  to  cry — it  has  cried  incessantly 
ever  since  it  was  born — and  no  wonder." 

"  Poor  little  soul ! "  said  Mr.  Trevena,  roused  into  un- 
wonted interest.  He  had  lived  so  long  the  life  of  a 
bachelor  and  a  bookworm  that  he  rarely  troubled  him- 
self much  about  external  things — human  things — but  left 
all  that  to  his  wife.  "  I  think  we  had  better  tell  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena :  she  will  be  sure  to  know  what  you  ought  to  do." 

"  Yes — but  not  yet.  Don't  spoil  her  pleasure.  Look  ! 
I  am  sure  she  is  enjoying  herself." 

"  My  wife  has  the  faculty  of  enjoying  everything." 

And  indeed  it  seemed  so,  though  just  now  her  enjoy- 
ment was  no  wonder.  Few  could  have  seen  unmoved 
those  great  fields  of  snow,  rising  upwards  into  gigantic 
peaks,  white  as  no  fuller  on  earth  could  whiten  them — 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  27 

like  the  robes  of  the  righteous  described  in  Revelations. 
The  whole  scene,  in  its  silence,  grandeur,  and  dazzling 
brightness,  was  liker  heaven  than  earth.  One's  petty 
mortal  life,  with  its  trivial  cares  and  foolish  joys,  sank, 
dwarfed  into  nothingness,  before  the  majesty  of  those 
everlasting  hills,  covered  with  perpetual  snow.  It  wTas 
the  nearest  image  we  can  imagine,  in  this  poor  changing 
earth,  of  that  Eternity  from  whence  we  came  and  into 
which  we  go. 

She  sat  gazing  with  an  expression  full  of  peace,  though 
the  traces  of  tears  were  on  her  cheeks — so  rapt,  that  she 
never  noticed  the  approach  of  the  two  men. 

"  Look  at  her,"  said  the  American,  with  honest  admira- 
tion written  on  his  shrewd  brown  face.  ' '  By  George ! 
how  pretty  she  must  have  been  when  she  was  young." 

"She  is  pretty  now — at  least  to  me,"  replied  the 
Englishman  with  dignity.  "  My  dear  Susannah,  are  you 
rested  ?  Is  it  not  time  we  were  going  home  ? " 

" '  Going  to  hum,'  as  we  say — or  as  you  English  say 
that  we  say — often  a  very  different  thing,"  observed  Dr. 
Franklin,  trying  hard  to  recover  his  equanimity  and 
good  humor. 

"  Which  means  going  to  our  hotel ;  not  a  bad  substi- 
tute for  home.  Madame  is  very  kind.  But  oh  !  Aus- 
tin, I  shall  be  glad  to  be  once  again  really  '  at  home  ! ' 
We  must  try  to  move  on  to-morrow.  So  adieu — for 
ever,  most  likely — you  beautiful  San  Gottardo ! " 

Smiling  she  rose,  collected  the  fragments  of  lunch, — 
"  They  will  do  for  these  little  lads  who  were  selling  edel- 
weiss and  alpenrosen  beyond  Hospenthal.," — and  joined 
her  companions  in  the  carriage. 


28  KING   AKTHUB. 

Both  Mr.  Trevena  and  Dr.  Franklin  were  very  silent 
on  the  homeward  road ;  but  Mrs.  Trevena  talked  and 
smiled  rather  more  than  usual  to  make  up  for  it.  And 
they  acquiesced  in,  or  at  any  rate  did  not  oppose,  her 
plan  of  going  down  the  next  day  to  Fluelen,  and  thence 
on  to  Lucerne. 

"  So  this  will  be  our  last  night  in  the  Urseren  Thai ; 
for,  if  you  go  back  to  America  as  you  intend,  doctor, 
we  are  none  of  us  ever  likely  to  be  at  Andermatt 
again." 

"  I  earnestly  hope  I  never  may  be ! "  said  Dr.  Frank- 
lin, as  reaching  the  hotel  he  looked  at  his  watch.  "Half 
an  hour  past  my  time.  Well,  it  doesn't  matter — only — 
what  a  hullabaloo  she'll  make.  You'll  remember,  sir? 
And  I'll  see  you  again  at  the  table  d?h6te — after  you  have 
told  your  wife." 

"  Told  me  what  ? " 

"  You  needn't  be  alarmed,  ma'am.  Take  a  quiet  even- 
ing walk — lucky  comfortable  couple  that  you  are ! — and 
your  husband  will  explain  it.  Bless  us — what  a  sunset ! 
— Why  did  heaven  make  the  outside  world  so  beautiful, 

and  the  people  in  it  so But  I  beg  your  pardon, 

Mrs.  Trevena — Not  all  people — not  all." 

He  took  off  his  hat  to  her  with  rough  respect,  and 
disappeared  toward  a  small  dependance  only  used  when 
the  hotel  was  full,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

Up  that  road,  shortly  afterwards,  the  English  couple 
might  have  been  seen  strolling,  arm-in-arm,  sometimes 
even  hand-in-hand,  for  those  long-divided  years  had 
made  them  almost  childlike  in  their  wedded  happiness 
now.  They  cast  a  glance  at  the  dependance  as  they 


NOT  A   LOYE   STORY.  29 

passed,  but  nothing  was  visible :  so  they  slowly  disap- 
peared along  the  level  road  towards  that  wonderful 
Devil's  Bridge — the  chief  sight  of  Andermatt ;  whence 
they  did  not  return  till  the  table  d'hote  dinner  had  al- 
ready begun. 

It  was  a  long  walk — and  a  momentous  one — perhaps 
the  most  momentous  they  had  ever  taken  in  all  their 
placid  lives.  When  he  met  them  at  the  dinner-table, 
Dr.  Franklin  was  quite  sure  Mr.  Trevena  had  told  his 
wife  everything.  She  was  very  silent — even  for  her ; 
she  ate  little ;  and  between  the  many  courses  by  which 
Swiss  hotels  so  cleverly  contrive  to  make  a  palatable 
something  out  of  almost  nothing,  she  fell  into  long  rev- 
eries. Still,  there  was  a  new  brightness — a  pleasure 
amounting  to  rapture — in  her  eyes,  which  made  her  look 
quite  young,  and  fairly  startled  the  good  doctor. 

Dinner  over,  she  drew  him  aside.  "  My  husband  has 
given  me  your  message.  I  hardly  know  what  to  advise. 
But  first,  may  I  go  and  see  that  poor  woman  ? " 

" '  Poor '  woman,  indeed !  and  you  want  to  go  and  see 
her?  I  knew  it ! — just  like  you.  But,  my  dear  madam, 
you  can't.  She  is  madder — or  badder — than  ever.  All 
her  talk  is  how  to  get  rid  of  the  child.  My  impression 
is  if  you  went  to  see  her  she  would  shut  the  door  in  your 
face." 

"  Try,  nevertheless.  I  might  do  something — say  some- 
thing. We  are  both  women,  and" — with  a  quiver  of  the 
lips — "  mothers — at  least  I  have  been  a  mother.  Per- 
haps, poor  thing !  her  head  is  a  little  wrong." 

u  Not  a  bit  of  it,  unless  we  adopt  the  theory  which 
some  of  my  profession  have  started,  that  all  badness  is 


30  KING  ARTHUR 

madness.  A  very  comfortable  doctrine,  and  then  no- 
body need  be  punished  for  anything.  But,  ma'am,  if 
there  is  a  thing  true  in  this  world  it  is  that  text,  '  Be 
sure  your  sin  will  find  you  out.'  As  I  told  her  only  to- 
night, you  can't  go  against  nature,  but  nature  will  have 
her  revenge  some  day.  However,  that's  no  affair  of 
mine." 

"  Perhaps  not,  yet  let  us  try.  Go  and  ask  her  if  she 
will  see  me." 

"  Very  well,  ma'am." 

During  his  absence,  Mrs.  Trevena  sat  alone — at  least 
practically  so,  for  her  husband,  according  to  old  habit, 
had  taken  a  book  out  of  his  pocket  and  become  absorbed 
therein.  Susannah,  who  did  not  read  very  much,  was 
content  to  watch  the  great  white  mountains  melting 
away  in  the  twilight ;  and  think — and  think. 

"It's  no  use!"  said  Dr.  Franklin,  returning.  "I 
believe  she  is  mad — quite  mad.  She  will  see  nobody. 
She  says  the  best  kindness  anybody  could  show  her 
would  be  to  take  away  the  child ;  that  children  have 
been  her  bane  and  nuisance  all  her  life,  and  she  wants 
no  more  of  them.  When  I  suggested  that  He  who  sent 
them  might  require  them  at  her  hand,  she  laughed  in 
my  face.  I  think  she  believes  in  neither  God  nor 
devil." 

"  Poor  soul !     Could  you  not  find  out  her  friends  ? " 

"  I  wish  I  could,  but  I  have  not  the  slightest  clue.  I 
can  get  nothing  out  of  her,  or  her  servant  either — except 
that  she  has  been  living  for  six  months  in  Italy." 

Mrs.  Trevena  thought  a  minute.  "  Do  you  think  it 
possible  she  may  be  the  Italian  prima  donna  who  ran 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  31 

away  from  Milan?  To  an  actress  or  singer  children 
might  be  a  hindrance — if  she  had  no  motherly  heart." 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  the  doctor,  meditating.  a  You 
women  are  twice  as  sharp  as  we.  But  she  is  Ameri- 
can. Still,  she  may  have  passed  under  an  Italian  name. 
She  declares  no  power  on  earth  shall  make  her  confess 
her  own." 

"  Poor  soul ! "  said  Susannah  again.  "  She  has  hus- 
band, children,  home — and  she  hates  and  flies  from  them 
all.  How  much  she  is  to  be  pitied ! " 

"  Pitied ! "  cried  the  doctor  almost  angrily.  "  Mrs. 
Trevena,  I  think  you  would  speak  a  good  word  for  the 
devil  himself !  And  truly,  if  there  ever  was  a  she-devil, 
it's  that  woman  !  I  wonder  what  Mrs.  Franklin  would 
say  to  her !  But  I  know  what  she'd  do — she'd  take 
home  the  little  one,  and  I  should  have  eleven  young 
shavers  to  bring  up  instead  of  ten.  She'd  make  me 
adopt  it — as  we  can  and  often  do  in  America." 

Mrs.  Trevena  did  not  answer  at  first — then  she  said 
gently,  "  Since  I  cannot  see  the  mother,  do  you  think 
you  could  manage  for  me  to  see  the  baby  ? " 

This  was  not  quite  easy,  for  Madame,  with  a  creditable 
dread  of  scandal  in  her  hotel,  had  managed  so  cleverly 
that  no  one  but  herself  and  the  American  doctor  even 
knew  of  the  existence  of  the  hapless,  unwelcome  babe. 
And  only  after  nightfall,  when  the  inmates  had  all 
retired,  would  she  consent  that  it  should  be  brought  for 
a  minute  or  two  to  the  door  of  the  dependance,  wrapped 
in  a  shawl,  and  carried  in  Dr.  Franklin's  arms. 

Mrs.  Trevena  took  it  softly  in  hers,  and  pressed  to  her 
bosom  the  tiny  red,  puckered  face. 


32  KING   ARTHUR. 

"  It  is  a  boy,  you  say  ?  Mine  was  a  boy  too.  He 
lived  just  six  hours."  It  was  only  a  murmur,  but  the 
kind-hearted  Kentucldan  heard  it — and  understood. 

"  It's  a  fine  child,  ma'am ;  healthy  and  strong.  ~No — 
it  won't  wake.  Its  mother  has  given  it  some  sleeping 
stuff— she  will  do  this,  though  I  tell  her  she  might  as 
well  give  it  poison.  She'll  kill  it  some  day,  if  it  isn't 
taken  away  from  her.  She  says,  new-born  brats  don't 
matter — they're  only  half-alive.  You  might  drown 
them  like  kittens — and  no  harm  done." 

Mrs.  Trevena  did  not  answer — perhaps  scarcely  heard. 
Evidently  her  heart  was  full.  She  pressed  her  cheek, 
her  lips,  with  more  than  tenderness — passion — to  the 
little  sleeping  face. 

"  If  mine  had  only  lived  !  I  had  him  but  six  hours, 
and  yet — I  can  never  forget  him."  And  then  either 
her  tears,  now  fast  falling,  or  the  unsteady  hold  of  her 
trembling  hands,  woke  the  child;  who  gave  a  little 
cry — that  helpless  infant  wail,  to  some  women  so  irri- 
tating, to  others  the  unfailing  key  which  unlocks  every 
corner  of  the  true  motherly  heart. 

"  I  must  take  it  back,"  said  Dr.  Franklin. 

"  Oh  no — no — let  me  have  it  for  just  five  minutes 
more — for  the  night  perhaps — I'll  take  care  of  it.  Any 
woman  of  common  sense  can  manage  a  baby.  Let  me 
have  it,  doctor." 

"  I  can't,"  replied  the  doctor  gravely.  "  Ma'am,  you 
forget.  What  would  Mr.  Trevena  say  3 " 

Mrs.  Trevena  resisted  no  more.  She  resigned  the 
child,  and  then  stood  with  her  empty  hands  tightly 
folded,  and  her  eyes,  tearless  now,  fixed  on  the  stars; 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  33 

which  treading  their  silent  courses  seemed  so  far  away 
from  human  cravings  and  human  woes.  Perhaps  she 
saw  them — perhaps  not,  but  there  was  a  light  in  her 
eyes  as  bright  as  stars. 

She  said  not  a  word  but  "good-night  and  thank  you " 
to  Dr.  Franklin,  when,  having  taken  her  across  the  road 
to  the  hotel,  he  left  her  at  her  own  room-door ;  with  a 
hearty  grip  of  the  hand — for  he,  too,  honest  man  !  had 
been  not  unmoved. 

"  Poor  little  brat !  I  wonder  what  will  be  the  end  of 
it.  Well!  I  guess  the  Lord  sometimes  makes  things 
mighty  unlevel  in  this  world  of  ours.  Perhaps  He  does 
it  that  we  may  try  to  put  them  straight  ourselves.  We 
often  can — if  we  see  our  way.  Whew !  I  wish  the  Lord 
would  help  me  to  see  mine." 

And  the  good  fellow — who  had  a  habit  of  referring  to 
"  the  Lord  "  pretty  frequently,  not  with  any  irreverence, 
but  in  a  fashion  rather  startling  to  British  ears — went 
off  to  his  bed,  whistling,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  con- 
tented and  the  just. 

So  did  Mr.  Trevena — in  fact  his  wife  found  him  asleep 
when  she  came  in,  and  did  not  waken  him.   But  she  her- 
self lay  awake  till  dawn. 
2* 


CHAPTER    II. 

morning  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena  sat  over  their 
early  caf£,  by  their  bedroom  fire,  welcome  even  in  June 
at  Andermatt — a  comfortable  couple,  placid  and  loving ; 
for,  before  returning  to  his  book,  he  stooped  and  kissed 
her  affectionately. 

"You'll  be  busy  over  your  packing,  my  dear,  for  we 
really  will  start  to-morrow,  if  I  get  the  letters  and  some 
money  to-day.  Dr.  Franklin  will  share  our  carriage  to 
Fluelen  ;  he  can  surely  leave  his  patient  now.  By  the 
bye,  did  you  see  the  baby  last  night  ? " 

"  Yes  ; "  and  coming  closer  she  laid  her  hand  on  her 
husband's  arm,  and  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  "  Can  you 
give  me  a  few  minutes,  Austin,  my  dear  ? " 

"  A  hundred  if  you  like,  my  darling.  Is  it  to  speak 
about  the  journey?  "Well,  we  shall  soon  be  safe  at  Lome, 
and  oh !  how  glad  we  shall  be." 

"  Yery  glad.  But — it  is  an  empty  home  to  come  back 
to." 

"How  do  you  mean? — Oh  yes — I  see.  My  poor 
Susannah !  You  should  not  have  gone  and  looked  at 
that  baby." 

He  spoke  very  tenderly — more  so  than  might  have 
been  expected  from  his  usually  formal  and  absent  manner. 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  35 

She  gave  one  little  sob,  then  choked  it  down,  put  her 
arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him  several  times.  An 
outsider  might  have  smiled  at  the  caresses  of  these  two 
elderly  people;  but  love  never  grows  old,  and  they  had 
loved  one  another  all  their  lives. 

"  Don't  mind  my  crying,  Austin.  Indeed,  I  am  happy, 
quite  happy.  Yesterday,  when  I  sat  under  the  wall  of 
snow,  and  looked  at  the  beautiful  sights  all  round  me,  I 
thought  how  thankful  I  ought  to  be — how  contented 
with  my  lot — how  blessed  in  my  home  and  my  husband. 
And  I  ceased  to  be  angry  with  God  for  having  taken 
away  my  baby." 

u  Poor  Susannah ! — poor  Susannah  ! " 

"  No,  rich  Susannah  !  And  so,  I  determined  to  grieve 
no  more — to  try  and  be  happy  without  a  child.  But 
now " 

"  Well,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  Austin,  I  think  God  sometimes  teaches  us  to  re- 
nounce a  thing,  and  when  we  have  quite  renounced  it, 
gives  it  back  to  us,  in  some  other  way." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

She  tried  to  speak — failed  more  than  once — and  then 
said,  softly  and  solemnly,  "  I  believe  God  has  sent  that 
child,  whom  its  mother  does  not  care  for,  to  me — to  us. 
Will  you  let  me  have  it  ? " 

Intense  astonishment  and  bewilderment  was  written 
on  every  line  of  Mr.  Trevena's  grave  countenance. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  Susannah,  what  can  you  be 
thinking  of?" 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  this  and  nothing  else,  ever 
since  you  told  me  what  Dr.  Franklin  told  you.  From 
C 


36  KING  AETHUB. 

that  minute  I  felt  the  child  was  meant  for  me.  Its 
mother  throws  it  away  ;  she  does  not  care  a  straw  for  it 
— whilst  I — oh  Austin — you  don't  know — you  don't 
know ! " 

She  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  childless  breast,  as  if  to 
smother  down  something  that  was  almost  agony. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  Mr.  Trevena  answered  dryly ;  "  I 
can't  be  expected  to  know.  And  if  you  were  not  such 
a  very  sensible  woman  I  should  say  that  you  don't  know 
either.  How  can  respectable  old  folk  like  us  encumber 
ourselves  with  a  baby — a  waif  and  a  stray — a  poor  little 
creature  that  we  know  nothing  on  earth  about  ? " 

"  But  God  does,"  she  answered  solemnly.  "  Listen, 
Austin.  When  I  was  a  very  little  girl  I  picked  up  a  bit 
of  sweetwilliam — trodden  under  foot  and  nearly  dead. 
My  playfellows  laughed  at  me,  and  said  it  would  never 
grow ;  but  I  planted  it  and  it  did  grow — it  grew  into 
the  finest  root  in  my  garden.  An  omen,  I  think  ;  for  I 
have  done  the  same  thing  several  times  afterwards  in  the 
course  of  my  life,  and — my  sweetwilliams  always  grew  ! 
Let  me  try  one  more/' 

"  My  dear,  you  would  coax  a  bird  off  a  bush.  But  what 
on  earth  do  you  want  to  do  ?  To  buy  a  baby  ?  The 
woman  will  not  give  it — she  wished  to  sell  it,  you  know. 
Twenty  pounds  is  her  price.  I  really  haven't  that  much 
about  me." 

"  Don't  jest,  dear."  And  when  he  saw  the  expres- 
sion of  his  wife's  face,  Mr.  Trevena  felt  it  was  no  jest- 
ing matter.  He  had  ever  been  a  man  of  one  idea,  or 
rather  of  two  ideas — his  books  and  his  Susannah ;  every 
corner  of  his  heart  was  filled  up  by  either  the  one  or  the 


NOT   A   LOVE    STOEY.  37 

other.  Perhaps  he  had  felt  a  natural  pang  when  his 
hope  of  fatherhood  was  quenched,  but  the  regret  soon 
died  out,  and  his  life  became  complete  as  before.  Love 
of  offspring  is  with  men  more  a  pride  than  an  affection ; 
at  least  till  the  children  are  intelligent  human  beings. 
The  passionate  craving  which  made  the  Hebrew  mother 
cry,  "  Give  me  children  or  else  I  die,"  is  to  them  abso- 
lutely unknown.  ISTor,  as  a  rule,  does  a  man  take  much 
interest  in  any  children  not  his  own.  But  with  a  wroman 
it  is  different. 

Susannah  sat  down,  for  she  was  trembling  too  much  to 
stand.  Austin  saw  it,  and  his  heart  melted. 

"  Come,  don't  fret,  my  love,  and  we  will  consider  the 
matter.  But — think  of  the  trouble  a  baby  would  be." 

"  I  will  take  it  upon  myself.     I  know  I  can." 

"  Then  again,  our  income  is  so  small — too  small  to 
bring  up  and  provide  for  a  child." 

"  We  should  have  had  to  do  it  for  our  own,  had  he 
lived." 

"  Then — there  is  my  brother  Hal." 

Mrs.  Trevena's  sweet  face  hardened  a  little — it  could 
not  but  harden.  This  scamp  of  an  elder  brother  had 
been  to  the  younger  one  a  torment,  a  disgrace,  ever  since 
their  college  days ;  also  a  ceaseless  drain,  hindering  his 
prospects  and  delaying  his  marriage.  Family  pride — it 
scarcely  could  be  called  family  affection — had  prevented 
the  good  clergyman  from  throwing  off  this  horrible  in- 
cubus, until  he  got  a  living  and  married  his  Susannah, 
whose  strength  had  in  some  degree  counteracted  his 
weakness,  taught  him  to  say  No,  and  proved  to  him 
that  to  sustain  a  bad  man  in  his  badness,  even  though 


38  KING   ARTHUR. 

he  be  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  is  not  a  virtue,  but  a 
weakness. 

"  I  thought  we  had  done  with  Hal  when  you  paid  his 
passage  out  to  Australia." 

"  Ay,  but  he  may  come  back  again—  he  often  does," 
said  the  husband,  with  a  weary  look.  "  He  has  turned 
up,  you  know,  from  all  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  worry 
me  as  much  as  ever." 

"But  that  was  when  you  had  not   me  beside  you. 


i  i  I  know  —  I  know.  Would  that  I  had  had  you  beside 
me  years  ago  !  " 

As  perhaps,  but  for  Hal,  and  a  certain  weakness,  not 
seldom  combined  with  an  affectionate  nature,  he  might 
have  had.  But  his  wife  said  nothing  —  except  to  notice 
that  Dr.  Franklin  was  walking  outside. 

u  Shall  we  call  him  in  and  speak  to  him  ?  " 

"  About  the  baby  ?  Have  you  so  set  your  heart  upon 
it,  Susannah  ?  Am  not  I  enough  for  you  ?  Would 
you  be  like  Hannah,  the  wife  of  Elkanah  ?  " 

"  Hannah  prayed,  and  God  sent  her  her  little  Samuel. 
Who  knows  but  that  He  may  in  His  own  mysterious 
way  have  sent  me  mine?" 

She  spoke  in  a  whisper  —  solemn  and  tender.  Her 
voice  was  so  entreating,  her  expression  so  rapt  —  as  if 
she  saw  farther  than  any  but  herself  could  see  —  that  the 
good  kind  husband  resisted  no  more.  Though  he  did 
not  always  understand  her,  he  had  an  instinct  that  what- 
ever his  Susannah  did  was  sure  to  be  right.  It  was 
always  difficult  to  him  to  say  'No  to  anybody,  but  to  say 
No  to  her  was  quite  beyond  his  power. 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  39 

"Well — well,  we  will  at  least  consider  the  matter. 
Let  us  do  as  you  say — call  in  Dr.  Franklin  and  talk  it 
over." 

The  talk  lasted  a  long  time,  without  eliciting  any  new 
facts  or  coming  to  any  satisfactory  conclusion.  Dr. 
Franklin  was  less  surprised  at  Mrs.  Trevena's  Quixotic 
idea,  as  her  husband  called  it,  than  an  Englishman  would 
have  been ;  he  said  the  adoption  of  children  was  a  not 
uncommon  thing  in  America. 

"  Indeed,  I  have  often  advised  it  as  an  absolute  duty 
to  rich  and  childless  people,  who  wished  to  make  them- 
selves happy  with  young  life  about  them,  and  avoid  a 
selfish,  useless  old  age.  A  child  in  the  house  helps  to 
educate  everybody  in  it.  Not  that  Mrs.  Trevena  needs 
much  education,"  added  he,  with  blunt  courtesy,  "  but 
it  would  make  her  happy  and  do  her  good ;  and,  as  the 
Bible  says,  she  would  <  save  a  soul  alive.' ': 

"  What!  save  a  child  by  taking  it  from  its  parents? 
That  is  not  according  to  the  Bible,"  answered  the  per- 
plexed clergyman. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  sir,  that  there  are  lots  of  children 
in  this  world  who  can  only  be  saved  by  taking  them  from 
their  parents.  This  poor  little  wretch  is  one.  He  is  a 
fine,  healthy,  perfect  child — splendid  physiological  and 
phrenological  developments — might  make  a  grand  fel- 
low, if  anybody  could  protect  him  from  the  woman 
that  bore  him  ;  who  doesn't  deserve  the  blessing  of  a 
child.  Your  wife  does.  I  think  with  her — that  the 
Lord  sent  it  to  her." 

Mrs.  Trevena  lifted  up  to  him  grateful  eyes,  but  said 
nothing. 


40  KING  ARTHUR. 

"  It  seems  so  ridiculous,  and  yet  so  horrible — the  idea 
of  buying  a  child,"  said  Mr.  Trevena.  "Besides,  we 
should  have  all  the  responsibility  of  it,  and  no  legal 
rights  whatever." 

"  There  we  have  the  advantage  of  you."  *Fhe  Ken- 
tuckian  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  long  length,  and 
spoke — more  nasally  than  ever,  it  must  be  owned — but 
with  an  honest  warmth  that  neutralized  all  national  pecu- 
liarities. u  In  my  country,  where  every  man  stands  on 
his  own  feet,  where  we  have  neither  the  curse  of  primo- 
geniture nor  the  burden  of  hereditary  rank,  any  respect- 
able person,  or  any  married  couple,  agreeing  together, 
can  legally  adopt  a  child/' 

Mrs.  Trevena  looked  up  eagerly.     "  How  ? " 

"  By  presenting  a  petition  to  one  of  our  courts  of  law, 
and  after  due  examination  of  the  parents,  if  alive  and 
deserving,  and  of  the  child,  if  old  enough,  obtaining  a 
decree  of  adoption,  which  is  called '  the  muniment  of  title.' 
This  makes  it  the  adopting  parents'  lawful  heir,  and  the 
real  parents  have  no  more  right  over  it,  which  is,  in  some 
cases,  a  great  blessing.  It  was  in  two,  I  know  of — one 
an  orphan,  the  other  worse.  Both  children  were  adopted 
— and  both  saved — as  I  only  wish  somebody  would  save 
this  poor  little  soul.  It's  a  great  mystery,  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena, but  sometimes  the  Lord  seems  to  send  children  to 
those  who  don't  deserve  them,  and  not  to  those  that  do. 
Many  miserable  little  creatures  have  I  seen,  who  might 
have  been  seized  and  saved,  body  and  soul — as  I  man- 
aged to  save  those  two But  I  beg  your  pardon.  I 

go  talking  on — interrupting  your  husband  at  his  letters 
— for  I  see  he  has  got  them  at  last." 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  41 

There  were  only  two — but  evidently  important — for 
Mr.  Trevena  had  dropped  out  of  the  conversation  at  sight 
of  them,  and  sat  poring  over  the  first  one ;  till  coming  to 
the  end  he  uttered  something  almost  like  a  cry.  His 
wife  came  to  him. 

< '  What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  Only  Hal  wanting  money — as  usual. 
And  why,  do  you  think  ? "  There  was  a  mixture  of  the 
pathetic  and  the  ludicrous  in  Mr.  Trevena's  face  as  he 
looked  up.  "  He  is  married ! — actually  married  this 
time — to  a  girl  twenty  years  younger  than  himself." 

Mrs.  Trevena's  anxious  face  grew  hard  and  stern. 
"  It  is  the  maddest — not  to  say  the  baddest — thing  he 
has  ever  done.  Who  is  she  ? " 

"  An  Australian — Colonial  born. — Hal's  wife !  and  we 
know  nothing  on  earth  about  her.'' 

"  And  she  probably  knows  nothing  on  earth  about 
him — which  is  worse.  Poor  soul !  " 

Here  Dr.  Franklin,  feeling  he  had  unawares  come 
upon  a  family  skeleton,  was  discreetly  slipping  away. 

"Stay  a  minute,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  "if  you  will 
pardon  this  discussion  of  our  family  correspondence. 
Austin,  open  the  other  letter.  It  may  be  our  money 
from  home,  and  then  we  can  arrange  with  Dr.  Franklin 
for  our  departure  to-morrow." 

There  was  a  sad  sort  of  resignation  in  her  tone,  as  of 
a  woman  who  has  all  her  days  been  accustomed  to  give 
up  everything  she  most  eared  for,  and  make  the  best  of 
what  was  left — eating  the  crumbs  and  not  the  festival 
meats  of  life.  But  no  one  knows  what  Fate  is  bringing. 
The  other  letter  her  husband  opened  listlessly — and 


42  KING   ARTHUR. 

almost  dropped  out  of  his  hands  with  a  look  of  amaze- 
ment and  joy. 

"  Susannah — O  Susannah !  it  has  come  at  last ! " 

"What,  dear?" 

"  The  living — that  college  living  I  have  been  hoping 
for  these  twenty  years ! — It  is  offered   me  now. — No 
more  poverty — no  more  struggle.     My  Susannah  will  be ' 
a  well-to-do  woman  for  the  rest   of  her  days.     Thank 
God— thank  God !  " 

Quite  overcome,  Mr.  Trevena  sat  down,  covering  his 
eyes  with  his  hand.  His  wife,  forgetful  of  the  stranger's 
presence,  knelt  down  beside  him  in  silence.  By  their 
deep  joy  the  doctor  could  plumb  the  depth  of  their  past 
suffering,  hitherto  so  well  concealed.  He  walked  to  the 
window,  unwilling  to  walk  quite  away,  and  contem- 
plated Juno,  the  big  St.  Bernard,  with  three  gigantic 
puppies  gamboling  round  her. 

"  A  mother  of  sons  is  a  fine  sight,  be  it  brute  or 
woman,"  said  he  to  himself,  apropos  of  nothing;  and 
gazed  silently  on  till  he  felt  a  gentle  touch  on  his  arm. 

"  You  are  so  kind — you  will  rejoice  with  us.  My 
husband  has  just  got  a  new  living — the  very  prettieBt 
rectory  in  all  Cornwall.  We  are  not  such  poor  people 
now,  as  we  told  you  we  were  this  morning." 

"  The  Lord  be  thanked  !  His  ways  are  not  so  unlevel 
after  all,  if  one  only  waits  to  see,"  said  the  Kentuckian, 
with  his  own  rough  but  unmistakable  devoutness,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  both  his  friends,  and  congratulated 
them  sincerely.  "  And  now,"  said  he,  with  his  usual 
directness, — "  about  the  child." 

«  What  child  ? "  said  Mr.  Trevena  absently. 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  43 

"  The  baby  your  wife  wants  to  adopt,  and  I  hope  she 
may.  I'll  help  her  to  do  it,  with  your  permission.  You 
can  afford  now  to  give  yourselves  a  son  and  heir." 

"  But — Susannah,  what  would  Hal  say  ? " 

There  is  a  saying  that  "  the  worm  will  turn."  Mrs. 
Trevena  had  never  been  a  "  worm  "  ;  but  she  had  been 
a  much-enduring  woman — till  now.  It  was  the  crisis  of 
her  patience.  Endurance  changed  into  resistance.  She 
rose  up,  and  even  Dr.  Franklin  was  startled  by  the  fire 
in  her  eyes. 

"  I  think,  husband,  it  does  not  matter  two  straws 
what  Hal  says.  He  has  spent  all  his  own  patrimony 
and  yours.  You  have  maintained  him  for  years ;  now 
he  has  chosen  to  marry,  and  it  is  the  maddest  if  not  the 
wickedest  thing  he  ever  did  in  his  life — which  is  saying 
a  good  deal.  He  has  no  further  claim  upon  you — upon 
us.  Let  him  go." 

Rarely  did  Mrs.  Trevena  speak  so  much  or  so  fiercely. 
That  last  "  Let  him  go  ! "  fell  hard  and  sharp  as  the 
knife  which  has  to  cut  off  something  corrupt,  ob- 
noxious— anct^does  it,  with  a  righteous  remorselessness 
better  than  any  feeble  pity,  which  is  often  only  another 
name  for  self-ease.  Even  as  there  are  many  people, 
who  are  benevolent  only  to  give  themselves  pleasure,  so 
there  are  many  more  who  are  merciful  only  to  save 
themselves  pain. 

"  She  is  right/'  said  Dr.  Franklin,  dropping  his  bony 
hand  heavily  on  the  table  as  a  sort  of  practical  amen  to 
the  discussion.  "  Since  you  have  let  me  into  your  family 
secrets,  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  use  the  freedom  of  saying, 
your  wife  is  right.  There  are  limits,  even  to  the  claims 


44  KING  AETHUB. 

of  flesh  and  blood.  Let  your  brother  go  his  way ;  and 
do  you  take  the  child  which  the  Lord  sends  you,  bring 
it  up  as  your  son,  and  trust  to  His  making  it  a  real  son 
to  you  both  in  your  old  age.  Nobody  can  look  ahead ; 
but  at  any  rate  you  will  make  your  wife  happy,  and,  as 
I  said,  you  will  save  a  soul  alive." 

He  waxed  preternaturally  eloquent,  as  he  stood,  honest 
man  !  his  long  lean  figure  drawn  up  to  its  full  height ;  his 
arms  folded  and  his  keen  eyes  glittering — was  it  with  that 
tender  pity  which  only  the  strong  can  feel?  or  the  gener- 
ous indignation  that  only  the  righteous  can  show?  Any- 
how, his  words,  so  cordially  in  earnest,  had  their  effect. 

Mr.  Trevena  turned  to  his  wife.  "  Susannah,  do  you 
really  wish  this  ?  " 

"Yes,  Austin,  I  do." 

"  Then  I  consent.    For  my  wife's  sake,  Dr.  Franklin/' 

"And  for  His  sake,"  added  Susannah,  with  an  up- 
ward glance  of  her  sweet  eyes — eyes  that  had  in  them 
the  perpetual  light  from  heaven,  which  a  man  might 
thankfully  and  safely  follow  all  his  life  through.  "He 
says  to  us,  Take  this  child  and  nurse  it— for  Me." 

"  And  now,"  said  the  doctor,  clearing  his  throat,  and 
sticking  his  hat  fiercely  down  over  his  brows — "  I'll  go 
and  see  about  this  business — the  oddest  bit  of  business  I 
ever  came  across.  I've  bought  a  good  many  things — 
but  I  never  yet  bought  a  baby.  What  form  of  receipt 
will  the  woman  want,  I  wonder  ?  And  she  must  sign 
her  name  to  it — which  will  let  us  know  what  her  name 
is — for  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea.  By  Jove !  she's  a 
queer  customer;  the  most  unwomanly  woman  I  ever 
had  to  do  with.  Still— I'll  face  her.  Here  goes ! " 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  45 

He  gave  his  soft  felt  hat  another  bang,  which  left  it 
crooked  on  his  head;  and  soon  they  saw  him  striding 
off  to  the  dependance.  They  felt  that,  spite  of  his 
address  and  brusquerie,  if  there  was  ever  a  man  fit  to  be 
trusted  with  a  troublesome  business,  and  certain  to  carry 
it  through,  it  was  the  long  Kentuckian. 

Hour  after  hour  the  day  went  by.  Husband  and  wife 
did  not  talk  much ;  neither  was  given  to  talking — their 
long-parted  lives  had  been  too  solitary:  besides  they 
understood  one  another  so  well  that  discussion  was  un- 
necessary. Even  at  this  great  crisis,  when  both  had 
plenty  to  think  about,  they  kept  a  mutual  tender  silence ; 
and  as  they  took  their  quiet  daily  walk  together,  spoke 
of  the  mountains,  the  flowers,  and  all  other  things  about 
them  which  they  were  accustomed  to  notice  and  take 
pleasure  in — the  placid  pleasure  in  nature's  blessings 
which  grows  rather  than  decreases  with  years.  But  they 
never  once  referred  either  to  Hal  and  his  marriage,  or  to 
the  transaction  which  Dr.  Franklin  was  engaged  in  at 
the  dependance  close  by. 

As  they  passed  it  on  their  return  it  was  as  silent  as 
death ;  the  doors  and  windows  closed,  as  had  been  the 
case  all  along.  Mrs.  Trevena  gave  a  little  sigh.  But 
her  husband  never  seemed  to  notice  anything. 

The  glowing  June  day  was  beginning  to  melt  into  the 
long  twilight  of  the  mountains,  behind  whose  tops  the 
sun  disappears  so  soon  ;  when  Dr.  Franklin's  knock  was 
heard  at  their  door.  Mrs.  Trevena  opened  it  with  an  eager 
face,  in  which  hope  seemed  to  struggle  with  patience — 
the  patience  of  a  woman  long  accustomed  to  disappoint- 
ment. 


46  KING   AETHUK. 

The  shrewd  doctor  saw  this  at  once,  and  held  out  his 
hand  with  a  smile. 

"Well,  ma'am,  congratulate  me.  I  think  I've  man- 
aged it  —  and  her.  But  she  is  the  queerest  fish;  a 
4  woman  of  genius,'  she  calls  herself,  and  not  to  be 
judged  like  other  women.  Bless  my  soul ! — if  she  is  a 
woman  of  genius  I'm  glad  Mrs.  Franklin  isn't ! — But  to 
our  business.  Your  hear  me,  Mr.  Trevena  ? " 

"Yes — yes,"  said  the  good  clergyman,  closing  his 
book,  but  looking  rather  bored  as  he  did  so. 

"  This  lady — queer  as  she  is,  I  am  sure  she  is  a  lady, 
well-educated  and  all  that — says  you  may  have  her  baby 
for  twenty  pounds  English  money,  paid  down  ;  and  that 
then  c  the  sooner  you  take  the  brat  away  the  better.' — 
Those  were  her  words.  She  promises  never  to  trouble 
you  about  it — she  doesn't  even  want  to  hear  your  name 
— which,  indeed,  I  have  taken  the  precaution  not  to  tell 
her — and  she  refuses  to  tell  you  hers.  She  says  you  may 
call  the  boy  anything  you  like.  '  He's  the  image  of  his 
father — and  that's  why  I  hate  him ! '  she  said  one  day. 
Oh,  she's  an  awful  woman." 

"  Is  he  " — the  color  rose  in  Mrs.  Trevena's  matron 
cheek,  but  she  forced  herself  to  ask  the  question — "  is  he 
— do  you  think — his  father's  lawful  child  ? " 

"  I  conclude  so.  She  speaks  sometimes  of  '  my  fool 
of  a  husband,'  and  '  the  little  wretches  at  home.'  But, 
as  I  told  you,  I  know  absolutely  nothing.  You  might 
as  well  squeeze  water  out  of  a  stone  as  any  common- 
sense  truth  out  of  that  woman.  She  is  a  perfectly  abnor- 
mal specimen  of  her  sex." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  mad." 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  47 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it :  perfectly  sound  in  mind  and  body- 
has  made  a  wonderfully  quick  recovery.  A  shrewd  per- 
son too — wide-awake  to  her  own  interests.  If  you  want 
the  baby  to-inorrow,  she  insists  upon  having  the  twenty 
Bounds  paid  down  to-night.'' 

Mr.  Trevena  looked  perplexed,  and  turned  appealingly 
to  his  wife — as  he  seemed  in  the  habit  of  doing  in  most 
emergencies. 

"  We  have  not  got  the  money,"  she  said  simply.  "  We 
have  hardly  any  money  left ;  but  our  remittances  will 
be  sure  to  come  to-rnorrow.  If  I  might  have  the 
baby " 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  you  had  it  now,  ma'am — for  I  don't 
want  to  have  to  give  evidence  to  the  Swiss  government 
in  a  case  of  child-desertion,  or  child-murder.  However, 
I'll  go  over  again  and  see  what  can  be  done.  There  is 
the  table  cPhote  bell.  Shall  we  go  down  to  dinner? " 

They  dined,  rather  silently,  amidst  the  clatter  of  a 
party  of  German£  who  had  just  come  up  from  Lucerne, 
and  were  passing  on  over  the  St.  Gothard  next  day ; 
and  who,  with  characteristic  economy,  appealed  to  the 
u  rich  English  "  to  take  their  carriage  back,  and  to  save 
them  the  expense  of  paying  for  the  return  journey. 

"  We  might  have  done  it,  had  our  money  come  in 
time,"  said  Mr.  Trevena.  "  I  am  sure  I  don't  want  to 
stay  a  day  longer  in  Andermatt  than  I  can  help." 

"  Nor  I,"  added  Dr.  Franklin — then  catching  Mrs. 
Trevena's  anxious  eyes — "  But  I  shall  make  it  a  point  of 
honor — medical  honor — to  see  my  patient  safe  through. 
Not  that  she  is  a  paying  patient,  though  she  did  one  day 
offer  me  a  diamond  ring — I  am  almost  sorry  I  refused  it, 


48  KING  ARTHUR. 

or  it  might  have  been  some  clue.  "  But  no  1 " — continued 
he  in  a  whisper  to  Mrs.  Trevena — "  Mother — take  your 
son — if  I  can  get  him  for  you — and  forget  he  ever  had 
any  mother  besides  yourself." 

Once  again  the  childless  woman's  eyes  flashed  upon 
the  good  doctor  a  look  of  passionate  gratitude.  Then 
she  rose,  and  went  and  sat  patiently  in  the  window  re- 
cess of  the  now  empty  salle  d  manger;  watching  the  full 
round  moon,  risen  long  since,  but  only  now  appearing 
over  the  tops  of  the  mountains — like  a  joy  found  late  in 
life,  yet  none  the  less  a  complete  and  perfect  joy. 

Before  long,  she  heard  Dr.  Franklin's  long  striding 
step  and  cheery  voice. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  I've  done  it  at  last.  You  will  get  your 
baby.  Not  to-night — she  ( can't  be  bothered '  to-night, 
she  says — but  to-morrow  morning.  Also,  I've  spoken  to 
Madame  (whom  I  had  to  take  into  our  confidence,  for 
she  threatened  to  turn  adrift  '  Madame  L'Anonyme,'  as 
she  contemptuously  calls  her,  within  twelve  hours),  and 
she  will  sell  you  the  clothes  she  lent,  and  the  goat ;  or 
get  you.  a  nourrice  from  the  next  canton,  so  that  you 
can  keep  the  matter  as  secret  as  you  choose." 

"  Thank  you,"  Mrs.  Trevena  said.  "  But  I  had  rather 
not  keep  it  secret.  I  have  considered  everything,  and  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  better  to  tell  the  plain  truth  at  once ; 
that  I  have  adopted  a  deserted  child,  and  that  he  is 
henceforth  my  son — and  I  am  his  mother." 

The  intonation  of  the  last  word  startled  even  the 
good  doctor,  who  knew  human  nature  so  well.  It 
indicated  one  of  those  natures  to  whom  motherhood  is 
not  merely  a  sentiment  or  a  duty,  but  a  passion.  He 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  49 

felt  that  be  had  done  well — or  rather  that  heaven  had 
done  better. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  "the  outside  world  need 
never  know  any  more  than  that — and  I  earnestly  hope 
you  never  will  either.  As  for  the  boy  himself,  when  he 
grows  up  you  may  tell  him  as  much  or  as  little  as  you 
please." 

"  I  shall  tell  him  everything.  The  truth  is  always 
best." 

Dr.  Franklin  shook  her  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  I 
wish  every  boy  in  the  world  had  a  mother  like  you. 
May  he  live  to  <  rise  up  and  call  you  blessed ! ' ' 

Middle-aged  and  practical  folk  as  they  were,  tears 
stood  in  the  eyes  of  both.  They  understood  one 
another. 

"  And  now,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  I'll  just  have  to 
face  that  woman  once  more — about  ten  to-morrow  fore- 
noon, she  said.  But  I  shall  not  try  to  worm  anything 
more  out  of  either  her  or  her  servant,  who  obeys  her  like 
a  slave — she  was  her  slave,  and  foster-mother  as  well — 
you  anti-slavery  folk  don't  know  the  dogged  fidelity  of 
our  Southern  niggers.  But  I'll  wash  my  hands  of  both 
— when  I  get  the  baby.  And  then  we  three — with  the 
young  'un  and  the  goat,  or  a  bottle  of  goat's  milk — will 
go  on  to  Fluelen  in  that  carriage  the  Germans  had.  I 
told  the  woman  this ;  and  oh !  how  she  pricked  up  her 
ears,  as  if  the  only  thing  she  wished  was  to  get  rid  of  her 
baby  and  never  see  it  again  in  this  world — as  I  fer- 
vently hope  she  never  may  ! " 

"  I  hope  so  too  ;  and  I  intend  it,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena, 
very  quietly,  but  with  a  firmness  that  betrayed  the 


50  KING   ARTHUR. 

possible  "iron  hand  in  velvet  glove" — even  her  little 
hand.  And  as  Mr.  Trevena  just  then  lounged  in — with 
his  gentle,  gentlemanly,  absent  manner,  and  his  eternal 
book  under  his  arm — Dr.  Franklin  thought  that  perhaps 
the  little  woman  had  found  out  how  in  this  life  firmness 
is  as  necessary  as  gentleness. 

Everybody  slept  soundly  that  night ;  the  worthy  doc- 
tor because  he  believed  he  had  done  his  duty;  Mrs. 
Trevena  because  she  saw  plainly  before  her  in  long  glad 
vista,  hers ;  and  Mr.  Trevena,  because  he  did  not  think 
about  it  at  all ;  being  absorbed  in  a  new  reading  which 
he  had  hit  upon  of  a  line  in  Horace,  and  which  he  tried 
to  explain  to  his  wife  before  they  went  to  sleep.  During 
the  night  one  of  those  dense  white  mists,  common  at 
Andermatt,  swept  down  from  the  mountains ;  by  morn- 
ing everything  outside  the  hotel  had  become  invisible ; 
and,  after  the  early  departure  of  the  German  tourists, 
the  almost  empty  hotel  seemed  to  become  as  quiet  as 
the  grave. 

The  post  arrived,  bringing  Mr.  Trevena  his  expected 
remittances,  which  he  handed  over  as  usual  to  his  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer,  as  he  called  her — well  for  him 
that  she  was  !  With  hands  slightly  trembling  she  exam- 
ined the  notes — there  was  enough  money  to  take  them 
home,  and  twenty  pounds  over. 

Mrs.  Trevena  looked  nervously  at  her  watch.  "  Is  not 
Dr.  Franklin  late?"  she  said — or  rather  was  about  to  say 
— when  she  saw  him  hurrying  in  from  the  dependance. 

"  I  want  you,  ma'am.  Come  back  with  me.  If  that 
woman  is  not  a  murderess,  she  is  next  door  to  one.  But 
we  may  save  the  child  yet  if  we  make  haste." 


NOT  A  LOVE    STOKY.  51 

Mrs.  Trevena  threw  a  shawl  over  her  head  and  ran. 
There,  in  the  middle  of  the  one  poor  room,  which  had 
witnessed  its  unwelcome  birth,  lay  the  deserted  child, 
half-naked  and  only  half -alive,  for  no  one  seemed  to  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  feed  or  dress  it.  The  floor  was 
strewn  with  the  debris  of  a  hasty  packing,  and  the  accu- 
mulated untidiness  of  many  days.  In  the  midst  of  this 
chaos  the  poor  infant  lay,  moaning  its  little  life  away — 
a  very  feeble  moan  now,  for  it  must  have  lain  there  sev- 
eral hours. 

Mrs.  Trevena  dropped  on  her  knees  beside  it.  "  Oh, 
my  baby !  my  baby ! "  she  cried  almost  with  a  sob ;  took 
it  in  her  arms,  pressing  the  stone-cold  limbs  to  her  warm 
breast,  and  wrapping  it  in  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  as  she 
sat  on  the  floor. 

"  It  is  mine,  altogether  mine  now.  Oh,  doctor,  can 
you  save  it  yet  ? " 

"  I'll  try,"  muttered  the  good  man,  as  he  too  knelt 
down  and  felt  the  fluttering  pulse — rapidly  sinking  into 
stillness  and  death. 

They  did  try ;  and  with  the  help  of  Madame,  who 
arrived  presently  from  the  hotel,  equally  voluble  in  her 
fury  against  "  Madame  L'Anonyme,"  and  her  wondering 
respect  for  the  gentle  English  miladi, — they  succeeded. 
Another  hour,  and  the  fleeting  life  had  been  arrested: 
the  danger  was  past ;  and  the  poor  little  babe,  warmed, 
fed,  and  clothed,  lay  safe  in  the  bosom  of  its  new-found 
mother,  who  rejoiced  over  it  almost  as  if  it  had  been  the 
child  of  her  own  travail,  which  heaven  had  taken  away. 

"  This  little  fellow  will  owe  you  his  life  almost  as 
much  as  if  he  had  been  born  vour  own,"  said  the  doctor, 
D 


52  KING   ARTHUR. 

regarding  them  both  with  the  curious  tenderness  which 
sometimes  softened  his  keen,  shrewd  eyes.  "  If  we  had 
not  come  to  the  rescue,  he  would  have  been  dead  in 
another  half-hour.  'Now — Bless  us!  what  a  pair  of 
lungs ! " 

"  No,  he  will  not  die — as  his  mother  meant  him  to 
die,"  cried  indignant  Madame,  who  with  nearly  all 
the  female  servants  of  the  hotel  had  gathered  round  in 
compassion  and  sympathy.  "The  barbarous  woman! 
and,  though  she  had  a  wedding-ring  on  her  finger,  I 
believe  she  was  a  woman  of  no  character  at  all." 

"  We  do  not  know  that,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  trying  to 
understand  the  French,  and  speaking  firmly  in  her  own 
tongue.  "  Let  us  be  silent  about  her.  She  is — or 
rather  she  was — my  boy's  mother." 

From  that  hour  Susannah  always  said,  "  My  boy." 

"Madame  I/Anonyme"  had  in  truth  disappeared,  as 
anonymously  as  she  came.  How  she  and  her  servant 
had  contrived  to  secure  the  Fluelen  carriage,  pack  up 
their  small  baggage,  and  make  what  was  literally  a 

OO     cD     /  «/ 

"moonlight  flitting,"  so  quietly  that  no  one  had  heard 
them  depart,  was,  and  remained,  a  complete  mystery. 

No  one  sought  to  unravel  it.  No  one  pursued  them 
or  cared  to  do  so — what  could  be  gained  by  it?  Nothing 
could  be  got  out  of  them.  The  puzzle  was,  how,  with- 
out money,  they  had  managed  to  get  away ;  and  it  was 
not  till  the  uproarious  complaints  of  Madame  had  been 
a  little  stilled  by  the  application  of  a  few  English  shil- 
lings— or  rather  American  dollars — that  the  doctor, 
seeing  Mrs.  Trevena  uneasy  because  her  part  of  the 
compact  had  not  been  fulfilled, — she  had  got  the  child, 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  53 

and  the  twenty  pounds  was  still  in  her  pocket — owned, 
blushing  like  a  girl,  that  he  himself  had  "  taken  the 
liberty  "  of  paying  it  the  night  before. 

"  It  seemed  the  only  way  to  quiet  the  woman,  and 
keep  her  from  doing  something  desperate.  But  you  see 
she  had  less  of  desperation  and  more  of  worldly  wisdom 
than  I  thought.  Anyhow  she  is  gone,  and  we  have  got 
rid  of  her — I  hope  for  ever." 

"  Thanks  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  as  she  silently 
put  the  bank-note  in  the  doctor's  hand  ;  and  he  took  it, 
for  he  was  a  practical  man,  and  a  poor  man  besides. 

"  I  have  made  everything  as  safe  as  I  can,"  said  he. 
"  She  has  no  clue  to  us,  or  we  to  her.  Neither  she  nor 
her  servant,  who  speaks  only  English,  has  ever  heard 
your  name — only  mine ;  and  as  I  am  going  back  to 
America  at  once,  she  is  not  likely  to  find  me  out  there. 
If  she  ever  does,  and  wants  to  know  about  her  child, 
she'll  meet  her  match — that's  all ! " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena.  For  Mr.  Trevena, 
he  said  nothing  at  all ;  he  only  watched  with  benignant 
pleasure  the  unspeakable  content  of  his  wife's  face  ;  and 
thence  glanced  downwards,  with  a  sort  of  amused  curi- 
osity, to  the  little  creature  on  her  lap,  especially  its 
hands  and  feet,  as  if  to  find  out  whether  it  had  the  right 
number  of  fingers  and  toes,  and  was  no  abnormal  speci- 
men of  anthropology.  A  simple  man,  and  a  good  man, 
was  the  Reverend  Austin  ;  never  swerving  from  his  one 
domestic  creed,  that  if  his  Susannah  thought  a  thing 
right,  it  was  right. 

So  the  exciting  episode,  which  Madame  in  her  anxiety 
for  the  good  name  of  her  hotel  wisely  hushed  up  as 


54  KING  AETHUK. 

much  as  possible,  settled  down  into  calmness.  The 
baby  did  not  die,  as  its  natural,  unnatural  mother  had 
probably  hoped  it  might.  The  goat  was  an  excellent 
foster-mother ;  and  before  forty-eight  hours  were  over, 
Mrs.  Trevena  felt — ay,  and  looked,  as  if  she  herself  had 
been  a  real  mother  for  years. 

Dr.  Franklin  watched  her  with  his  expression  of  dry 
humor,  tempered  by  kindliness. 

"  Mrs.  Franklin  says,  all  the  doctors  and  nurses  going 
can't  manage  a  baby  so  well  as  one  sensible  woman  with 
a  motherly  heart.  And  as  she  has  managed  ten,  maybe 
she  is  right.  Now — about  the  journey  to  Lucerne.  If 
you  take  a  bottle  of  goat's  milk  with  you — also  a  doctor, 
in  case  of  emergency,  we  shall  get  back  to  civiliza- 
tion without  any  difficulty.  A  nice  'partie  quarree ' — 
you  and  your  husband,  myself,  and — this  little  encum- 
brance." 

"  Encumbrance !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Trevena,  looking  up 
to  Dr.  Franklin  with  a  grateful  smile — no,  an  actual 
laugh.  He  had  never  heard  her  laugh  before.  And  she 
had  much  interested  him — this  little  woman — not  merely 
as  a  woman,  but  as  a  "  case  " ;  one  of  those  cases  which 
most  people  disbelieve  in,  yet  which,  though  rare,  are 
possible — a  "broken  heart."  A  disease  of  which,  if 
they  have  no  absolute  duties  and  are  not  physically 
strong,  women  can  die,  without  murmur  or  regret.  They 
neither  struggle  nor  complain ;  but  simply  drop  out  of 
life  as  out  of  a  worn  garment  no  longer  worth  the 
wearing. 

No  fear  of  that  now  for  Susannah.  Her  whole  nature 
seemed  changed.  Hope  seemed  to  have  come  into  her 


NOT  A  LOVE    STORY.  55 

heart — the  hope  that  comes  with  young  life,  rising  up  to 
renew  and  carry  on  the  life  which  had  seemed  fading 
away.  Her  very  face  grew  youthful;  with  a  look  not 
unlike  some  of  Raffaelle's  Madonnas;  far  away,  as  if 
peering  into  the  dim  future;  and  yet  content  in  the 
present — the  small  limited  present,  from  day  to  day,  and 
hour  to  hour,  as  mothers  learn  to  look. 

For  she  was  a  mother  now  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 
She  kept  saying  to  herself  involuntarily  that  line  of 
Mrs.  Browning's  lovely  poem,  "  A  child's  grave  at 

Florence  " — 

"  My  little  feet,  my  little  hands, 
And  hair  of  Lily's  color." 

As  she  almost  persuaded  herself  it  was ;  that  the  hair — 
quite  wonderful  for  a  baby  a  week  old,  which  she  ad- 
mired and  toyed  with,  was  exactly  the  same  shade  as 
that  on  the  nameless  little  head  which  had  been  buried, 
one  sad  midnight,  in  a  corner  of  the  churchyard  by  the 
vicarage  garden-gate. 

Often  it  really  seemed  to  her  that  her  lost  child  had 
come  back  alive,  bringing  with  him  the  future  of  bliss  to 
which  she  had  looked  forward,  all  through  those  mys- 
terious months — and  then  had  to  renounce  for  ever.  It 
revived  again  now.  Every  time  she  kissed  the  crumpled- 
up  mottled  face — which  had  no  beauty  for  any  one  but 
her — she  saw  in  imagination  the  face  of  her  son,  as  boy, 
youth,  man;  carrying  her  forward  five,  ten,  twenty 
years — years  full  of  hope ; — does  not  some  poet  call  a 
child  "  a  perpetual  hope  ? " 

"  Think  what  our  new  home  will  be — a  house  with  a 
child  in  it  ? "  she  said  to  her  husband  once ;  only  once, 


56  KING  ARTHUR. 

for  her  happiness  Jay  too  deep  to  be  talked  about,  even 
to  him.  Nor  could  he  have  understood  it.  He  was  not  of 
an  imaginative  turn  of  mind.  So  that  nothing  troubled 
him  in  the  present — and  his  wife  took  good  care  of  that 
— he  never  troubled  himself  about  the  future.  Like 
many  another  contented  bookworm,  he  rarely  saw  an 
inch  beyond  his  own  nose.  Yet  he  was  .the  most  patient 
and  easily  satisfied  of  men,  even  to  remaining  a  day  or 
two  longer  at  Andermatt ;  and  going  about  with  Dr. 
Franklin  instead  of  his  wife,  whose  new-found  duties, 
added  to  the  ordinary  traveling  cares,  which  always  fell 
upon  her,  not  him,  absorbed  her  entirely. 

But  at  last  the  two  men,  coming  home  from  a  quiet 
wander  through  the  flowery  meadows  beside  the  Reuss, 
and  an  investigation,  chiefly  to  kill  time,  of  the  little 
chapel,  with  its  strange  glass  tomb  of  the  mummied 
knight  lying  "  in  his  habit  as  he  lived  " — found  Mrs. 
Trevena  sitting,  oblivious  of  Alps  and  antiquities,  with 
her  baby  asleep  on  her  lap,  and  everything  settled 
for  their  departure  to-morrow. 

"  It  will  soon  seem  all  like  a  dream,"  she  said,  as  she 
cast  her  eyes  absently  on  the  wonderful  view  from  the 
window — the  great  circle  of  mountains,  the  georgeously 
colored  pastures,  and  the  wild  rapid  Reuss  glittering  in 
the  sun.  "  We  are  never  likely  to  see  this  place  again  ; 
but  I  think  I  shall  always  remember  it — the  place  where 
iny  boy  was  born." 

"  And  born  again — if  one  may  say  it  without  irrever- 
ence," added  Dr.  Franklin,  "  otherwise  he  had  better  be 
dead — as  ne  certainly  would  have  been  now,  except  for 
you.  By  the  bye,  you  will  have  to  give  the  young 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  57 

scamp  a  name — and  the  sooner  you  do  it  the  better. 
Get  him  christened,  and  keep  a  copy  of  the  baptismal 
certificate.  It  may  be  useful  yet.  And  I  think  you 
might  as  well  make  me  his  godfather,  because  I  at  least 
know  when  and  where  he  was  born.  It  will  be  a  certain 
protection  both  to  him  and  to  you." 

"  Thank  you ! "  said  Mrs.  Trevena  gratefully — but 
she  smiled  at  the  idea  of  her  child's  needing  "protec- 
tion " — or  she  either.  With  him  in  her  arms  she  felt  as 
strong,  as  fearless,  as  any  natural  mother — even  beast  or 
bird,  does,  with  the  instinct  of  maternity  upon  her. 

Dr.  Franklin  stuck  to  his  point,  insisting  that  a  bap- 
tismal certificate  was  the  nearest  approach  they  could 
make  to  giving  the  child  "  a  local  habitation  and  a 
name  "  in  this  perplexing  world,  the  god-parents  attest- 
ing the  place  and  date  of  birth,  though  they  could  only 
add  '•  parentage  unknown." 

"  And  then  you  must  take  your  chance  as  to  the  future, 
and  this  poor  little  fellow  also;  unless  you  will  como 
with  me  to  America,  where,  in  our  enlightened  States, 
you  can  lawfully  adopt  him." 

"  But  that  would  be  of  no  use  in  England,  you  said, 
and  England  must  be  our  home.  Yes,  we  must  take  our 
chance,"  she  added,  with  an  undertone  that  implied  one 
who  meant  to  control  chance,  rather  than  succumb  to  it. 
"  And  now,  about  the  name — the  Christian  name.  For 
surname,  he  will  take  ours — shall  he  not,  Austin  ? " 

"  Anything  you  like — anything  you  like,  my  dear." 

"Yes,  I  think  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Trevena.  Poor 
little  man,  his  name  matters  little.  He  will  have  to  go 

through  life  as  nobody's  child." 
3* 


58  KING  AKTHUK. 

"  Except  God's — and  mine." 

And  Susannah  pressed  her  lips,  as  solemnly  as  if  it  had 
been  a  sacrament  or  a  vow,  on  the  tiny  hand  with  its 
curled-up  fingers  ;  the  feeble  right  hand,  so  helpless  now 
—but  would  it  be  always  so  ? 

Dr.  Franklin  smiled,  kindly,  paternally,  on  the  crea- 
ture whose  life  he  had  helped  to  save ;  why,  or  to  what 
end,  who  could  tell  ?  All  child-lives  are  a  mystery,  but 
this  was  a  mystery  above  all.  The  little  thing  lay  sleep- 
ing in  unconscious  peace  on  its  adopted  mother's  lap : 
the  infant  who  would  be  a  man  when  they  were  in  their 
graves.  But  the  two  men  did  not  understand.  The 
woman  did. 

Mrs.  Trevena  at  last  looked  up.  A  twilight  glow  re- 
flected from  the  mountains  was  on  her  face;  and  an 
inward  glow,  which  made  her  almost  pretty  again — al- 
most young. 

"  I  have  thought  of  a  name.  We  are  Cornish  born, 
as  I  told  you,  Dr.  Franklin.  When  I  was  a  girl,  my  one 
hero  was  our  great  Cornishman,  who  was  also  *  Nobody's 
child' — found  by  Merlin,  they  say,  as  a  little  naked 
baby  on  the  shore  at  Tintagel,  but  who  grew  up  to  be 
the  stainless  knight — the  brave  soldier — the  Christian 
king.  My  boy  shall  do  the  same — in  his  own  way.  It 
does  not  matter  how  he  was  born,  if  he  lives  so  that 
everybody  will  mourn  him  when  he  dies.  So  he  shall 
have  my  hero's  name.  He  shall  be  my  'King5  Ar- 
thur." 

"  You  romantic  little  woman ! "  said  her  husband,  half 
apologetically,  half  proudly.  But  he  listened  to  her,  as 
he  always  did ;  and  her  decision  carried  the  day. 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  59> 

Next  morning,  when  the  sun  had  just  risen  above  the 
mountains,  and  was  only  beginning  to  warm  the  silent 
valley,  the  little  party  left  Andermatt ;  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Trevena,  Dr.  Franklin,  and  the  u  encumbrance,"  as  the 
doctor  called  it,  but  who  slept  so  calmly  as  to  be  no  en- 
cumbrance at  all.  It  was  evidently  an  infant  of  placid 
mind,  able  to  accommodate  itself  to  circumstances. 

They  were  followed  by  the  benedictions  and  good 
wishes  of  Madame  and  the  hotel  people,  who  could  not, 
to  the  last,  understand  the  affair,  but  set  it  all  down  to 
English  eccentricity.  They  departed,  and  the  little 
remote  Alpine  Valley,  which  had  witnessed  so  much, 
knew  them  no  more. 


CHAPTEE    III. 

ARTHUR  FRANKLIN  TREVENA — for  they  had  given  him 
also  the  name  of  his  good  godfather,  who  parted  from 
him  at  Lucerne,  never  probably  to  behold  him  again — 
"  King  "  Arthur  arrived  at  the  vicarage  with  his  adopted 
parents,  creating  no  small  sensation  in  the  parish  which 
they  had  left,  a  forlorn  and  childless  couple,  six  months 
before.  But  the  villagers  were  simple  folks,  who  accepted 
the  baby  upon  his  "  mother's "  own  simple  statement. 
Mrs.  Trevena  was  among  the  few  people  who  have  cour- 
age to  believe  that  the  plain  truth  is  not  only  the  wisest 
but  the  safest  thing — that  he  was  a  deserted  child,  whom 
she  had  taken  for  her  own,  and  meant  to  bring  up  ex- 
actly as  her  own.  And  those  other  mothers  who  remem- 
bered her  sad  looks  when  she  went  away,  and  compared 
them  with  her  happy  looks  now,  agreed  that  "  the  par- 
son's wife  "  had  done  right  and  best,  not  only  for  herself, 
but  most  likely  for  "  the  parson  "  also. 

The  only  individual  who  ventured  to  question  this,  or 
in  any  way  to  criticise  the  proceeding,  was  a  neighboring 
clergyman,  a  college  friend,  who  in  Mr.  Trevena's  absence 
had  undertaken  the  care  of  the  hundred  souls  his  parish 
contained.  This  gentleman,  a  man  of  fortune  and  family, 
remonstrated,  in  a  letter  of  sixteen  pages,  with  his 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  61 

"  reverend  brother  "  on  what  he  had  done,  in  bringing  a 
nameless  child,  possibly  the  offspring  of  sin  and  shame, 
into  a  respectable  and  above  all  a  clergyman's  household. 
He  quoted  many  texts,  such  as  "  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
shall  be  visited  on  the  children/'  and  "  the  seed  of  evil- 
doers shall  never  be  renowned,"  which  for  a  moment  stag- 
gered the  simple-minded  vicar.  And  he  ended  by  asking, 
"  What  would  the  Trevenas  say  ? " — forgetting  that  the 
only  Trevena  left  was  Hal  at  the  Antipodes,  of  whom 
even  his  old  college  acquaintance  would  have  owned, 
if  questioned,  that  the  less  said  about  him  the  better. 

But,  except  this  lengthy  epistle,  which  Mr.  Trevena 
read  in  silence,  and  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Trevena,  by  whose 
gleaming  eyes  he  saw  that  the  silence  had  better  be  con- 
tinued, for  there  was  a  dangerous  light  in  them  that  few 
men  would  have  cared  to  face, — the  couple  met  with  no 
opposition  or  comment  on  what  they  had  done  or  what 
they  meant  to  do.  The  nine  days'  wonder  settled  down  ; 
and  after  the  village  mothers  had  come  to  look  at  the 
baby,  and  pronounced  it  the-  finest  baby  that  ever  was 
seen,  everybody  seemed  to  take  the  matter  as  quite  nat- 
ural. Poor  people  are  often  so  kind,  sometimes  so 
romantically  generous,  about  other  people's  children : 
many  a  nursing  mother  will  not  scruple  to  take  to  her 
home  and  her  breast  some  motherless  babe ;  and  many  a 
nameless  infant,  paid  for  at  first,  and  then  forsaken,  has 
been  brought  up  for  charity  by  its  foster-parents.  So  the 
fact  of  an  adopted  child  did  not  strike  these  innocent 
villagers  as  anything  remarkable.  They  only  thought  it 
was  "  uncommon  kind  "  of  Mrs.  Trevena,  and  hoped  she 
would  be  rewarded  for  her  "  charitv." 


62  KING  ARTHUE. 

Charity!  She  laughed  at  the  word.  Charity  had 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it.  A  child  in  the  house  ! — it 
was  a  joy  incarnate — a  blessing  unspeakable — a  consola- 
tion without  end.  She  did  her  duties,  neither  light  nor 
few,  but  through  them  all  she  hugged  herself  in  her 
secret  bliss.  She  used  to  think  of  it  as  she  walked — 
as  she  chatted  to  her  neighbors — and  (oh  sinful  Susan- 
nah ! )  often  as  she  sat  in  church.  "  My  little  feet — my 
little  hands."  When  she  came  back  to  them,  when  she 
ran  upstairs  to  the  small  attic — small  but  sunshiny — 
where  Manette  and  Arthur  were  installed,  and  taking 
the  baby,  sat,  rocking  him  and  singing  to  him  in  the  old- 
fashioned  rocking-chair  which  had  been  her  mother's, 
every  care  she  had — and  she  had  some,  a  few  mole-hills 
that  many  another  woman  would  have  made  into  moun- 
tains— seemed  to  melt  away.  That  morbid  self-contem- 
plation, if  not  actual  selfishness,  which  is  so  apt  to  grow 
upon  old  maids  and  childless  wives — upon  almost  all 
women  who  have  arrived  at  middle  age  without  knowing 
the  "  baby-fingers,  wraxen  touches,"  which  press  all  bit- 
terness out  of  the  mother's  breast — vanished  into  thin 
air.  It  could  not  exist  amidst  the  wholesome  practicality 
of  nursery  life ;  a  nursery  where  the  mother  is  a  real 
mother,  and  sees  to  everything  herself,  as  was  necessary 
in  this  case.  For  Manette,  the  young  Swiss  orphan 
whom  they  had  found  at  Lucerne  and  installed  as  nurse, 
was  a  mere  girl,  who  spoke  no  English,  though  she  soon 
taught  her  mistress  to  speak  French.  They  two  became 
very  happy  together,  guarding  with  mutual  care,  and 
sometimes  just  a  spice  of  jealousy,  the  little  warm  white 
bundle  which  contained  a  sentient  human  being — or 


NOT   A    LOVE    STOEY.  63 

what  would  be  one  day — Manette's  pet  and  plaything, 
Mrs.  Trevena's  "  perpetual  hope." 

Had  she  been  a  disappointed  woman  ?  Perhaps  ;  in 
some  sense  all  women  of  imaginative  temperament  are. 
They  start  in  life  expecting  the  impossible,  which  of 
course  never  comes  ;  and  at  last  find  themselves  growing 
old  with  their  hearts  still  painfully  young — it  may  be,  a 
little  empty ;  for  not  even  the  best  of  men  and  husbands 
can  altogether  fill  the  void  which  Nature  makes ;  even 
as  no  woman  can  fill,  or  ought  to  fill,  that  sterner  half  of 
a  man's  being  which  is  meant  for  the  world  and  its  work. 

But  now  Susannah's  empty  heart  was  filled — her 
monotonous  life  brightened;  the  future  (she  was  only 
just  over  forty,  and  had  a  future  still) — stretched  out 
long  and  fair ;  for  it  was  not  her  own — it  was  her  son's. 
The  evening  before  they  left  the  vicarage  for  the  new 
rectory — a  sweet  September  evening — since  it  had  taken 
fully  three  months  to  make  the  new  home  ready  to 
receive  them — she  went  out  alone  and  planted  a  young 
tree,  a  seedling  sycamore,  which  no  one  was  likely  to 
notice  till  it  grew  a  tree — in  the  churchyard  corner, 
where  was  the  little  grave  of  which  nobody  knew.  But 
she  scarcely  felt  it  a  farewell.  She  thought  how  the 
fibres  would  wrap  themselves  tenderly  round  the  buried 
bones,  and  the  top  would  spread  itself  out  into  green 
leaves  and  branches.  And  it  seemed  as  if  out  of  her 
dead  baby's  grave  had  sprung  the  other  child — another 
and  yet  the  same — sent  direct  from  heaven  to  be  her 
comfort  and  blessing.  Unconsciously  she  repeated  to 
herself  the  benediction  of  the  Psalmist — 

"  He  shall  be  like  a  tree  planted  by  the  water-side, 


64:  KING   ARTHUR. 

that  will  bring  forth  his  fruit  in  due  season ;  his  leaf 
also  shall  not  wither ;  and  look  !  whatsoever  he  doeth  it 
shall  prosper." 

"  It  will  be  so,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  if  I  have  strength 
to  bring  him  up  in  the  right  way,  to  make  him  into  a 
just  man — l  a  man  that  feareth  the  Lord/  Then,  I  need 
have  no  fear.  '  Whatsoever  he  doeth  it  shall  prosper.' " 

And  little  Arthur — somehow,  from  the  first,  he  was 
always  called  Arthur,  never  "baby" — did  seem  to  pros- 
per :  as  much  in  his  new  home  as  in  his  old  one.  He 
had  a  larger  and  better  nursery,  not  at  the  top,  but  at 
the  end  of  the  house ;  which  was  a  very  pretty  house,  the 
prettiest  as  well  as  the  most  comfortable  that  Susannah 
had  ever  lived  in.  From  her  youth  up  she  had  had  to 
battle  with  the  domestic  ugliness  that  accompanies  grind- 
ing poverty ;  to  smother  down  her  tastes  and  predilec- 
tions, to  live  in  streets  instead  of  fields — at  least  till  her 
marriage.  And  even  marriage  had  brought  little  respite 
in  the  hard  work,  the  ceaseless  cares — inevitable  from  the 
necessity  of  making  sixpence  do  the  work  of  a  shilling. 

But  now  all  was  changed.  She  had  as  much  money 
as  she  needed — enough  even  to  lay  by  a  little  (oh  !  joy- 
ful economy  !)  for  the  future  education  of  her  son. 

"  We  cannot  provide  for  him,"  she  had  said  to  her 
husband,  "  but  we  can  give  him  a  good  education,  and 
then  let  him  work  for  himself.  It  is  the  best  thing  for 
all  boys.  It  might  have  been  better  for  Hal "  (she 
thought,  but  did  not  say,  perhaps  also  for  Hal's  brother) 
'-'  if  he  had  been  thrown  upon  the  world  without  a  single 
halfpenny." 

So  when  she  saw  the  pretty  rectory  nestling  under  its 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  65 

acacia  tree  beside  the  lovely  old  church,  and  knew  there 
was  income  enough  to  live  there  comfortably,  she  yet 
determined  to  waste  nothing ;  to  expend  nothing  fool- 
ishly upon  outward  show,  or  in  "  keeping  up  a  position  " 
—as  the  owners  of  the  great  house  close  by  were  reported 
to  have  done  for  generations.  Consequently,  the  Dame- 
rels  of  the  last  generation  had  been  too  poor  to  occupy 
their  splendid  abode — or  even  to  come  back  to  it — ex- 
cept to  be  buried.  Their  yault  in  the  old  church  was  all 
that  remained  to  them,  in  spite  of  their  ancient  name, 
and  an  estate  which  had  belonged  to  them  for  centuries. 
Her  boy,  Susannah  often  thought,  blossoming  day  by 
day  into  rosy  infancy — the  darling  of  his  good  Manette 
and  his  devoted  "  mother " — was  happier  than  the  heir 
of  all  the  Damerels — a  poor  idiot,  report  said,  never 
seen  or  heard  of,  whose  family  home  was  let,  and  the 
property  put  into  Chancery,  until  his  fortunate  death 
cleared  the  way  for  some  distant  cousins,  ready  to  fight 
over  the  title  and  estate  like  dogs  over  a  bone. 

"  So  much  for  c  family ' — so  much  for  '  fortune  ! ' ' 
meditated  Mrs.  Trevena  ;  and  was  almost  glad  that  she 
herself  was  the  last  of  her  race,  and  that  her  husband's 
only  relation  was  Hal — safe  away  in  Australia.  "  You 
will  start  in  life  all  free,  my  darling — as  free  as  if  you 
had  dropped  from  heaven  in  a  basket.  You  will  stand 
on  your  own  feet,  and  make  your  own  way  in  the  world, 
with  nobody  to  hamper  you,  and  torment  you — except 
your  mother ! " 

And  she  kissed  with  a  passion  of  tenderness  the  baby 
eyes,  which  had  already  begun  to  develop  intelligence, 
and  the  sweet  baby  mouth,  so  smiling  and  content ;  for 


66  KING   ARTHUR. 

Arthur,  like  most  healthy  and  carefully  reared  children, 
was  an  exceedingly  "good"  child — who  gave  little 
trouble  to  any  one.  Before  the  winter  was  over  he  had 
learnt  to  know  his  mother's  step  and  voice,  to  laugh 
when  she  entered  the  nursery  and  to  cry  when  she  left 
it.  Soon,  if  brought  face  to  face  with  a  stranger,  he 
would  turn  away,  clasp  his  little  fat  arms  tight  round 
her  neck  and  hide  his  face  on  her  shoulder,  as  if  recoff- 

'  o 

nizing  already  that  she  was  no  stranger,  but  his  natural 
protector,  refuge,  and  consolation — his  mother,  in  short, 
and  everything  that  a  mother  ought  to  be. 

For  his  father — well!  young  infants  scarcely  need 
one ;  and  certainly  the  father  does  not  need  them — often 
quite  the  contrary.  But  it  rather  pleased  Mr.  Trevena 
to  be  called  "  papa  " — as  they  decided  he  should  be ;  and 
now  and  then,  when  he  met  Manette  walking  in  the 
garden  with  Arthur  in  her  arms,  he  wrould  stop  her, 
and,  stroking  with  one  finger  the  rosy  cheek,  remark 
that  it  was  "  a  very  nice  baby."  But  he  did  not  investi- 
gate or  interfere  further.  Even  had  it  been  his  own 
child,  he  probably  would  have  done  no  more.  A  baby 
was  to  him  a  curious  natural  phenomenon,  which  he  re- 
garded with  ignorant  but  benevolent  eyes,  much  as  he 
did  the  chickens  in  his  farmyard,  or  the  little  pigs  in  his 
sty;  but  taking  no  individual  interest  in  them  what- 
ever. Not  until  the  spring  had  begun  and  the  leaves 
were  budding  and  the  primroses  springing  about  Tawton 
Magna,  making  it  truly  what  it  was  said  to  be,  the 
prettiest  rectory  in  all  Cornwall — did  Manette  report 
that  "Monsieur"  had  actually  kissed  "le  UU" — that  it 
had  crowed  to  him  and  pulled  his  hair,  and  altogether 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  67 

conducted  itself  with  an  intelligence  and  energy  worthy 
of  nine  or  even  ten  months  old. 

"  Is  it  really  nearly  a  year  since  we  were  in  Switzer- 
land ? "  said  Mr.  Trevena  to  his  wife,  as  she  joined  him 
at  the  gate ;  she  always  went  his  parish  rounds  with 
him,  and  did  everything  for  him,  exactly  as  before  the 
coming  of  little  Arthur ;  only  her  many  solitary  hours 
were  solitary  now  no  more.  But  to  her  husband  every- 
thing was  made  so  perfectly  the  same  that  he  often 
forgot  the  very  existence  of  the  baby.  "  Arthur — that 
is  his  name,  I  think — really  does  credit  to  you,  my 
dear — and  the  rectory  too.  It  must  be  a  very  healthy 
house,  for  I  never  saw  you  look  so  well." 

She  smiled.  They  loved  one  another  very  dearly — 
those  two ;  old  as  they  were — and  different  in  many 
ways.  But  difference  of  character  does  not  prevent 
affection — rather  increases  it  sometimes. 

"  All  the  village  tells  me  what  a  fine  child  Arthur 
is — the  first  child,  by  the  bye,  that  has  been  in  the 
rectory  for  fifty  years.  My  predecessor,  as  you  know, 
was  an  old  bachelor.  Everybody  is  delighted  to  have  a 
lady  in  the  village.  You  and  your  boy  bid  fair  to  be 
the  pets  of  the  parish,  Susannah,  my  dear." 

Which  was  true  —  and  not  unnatural.  For  her 
motherly  heart,  warmed  through  and  through  with  the 
sunshine  of  happiness,  opened  not  only  to  her  own,  but 
to  every  child  she  came  near;  to  every  poor  soul,  old 
or  young,  that  wanted  happiness  and  had  it  not.  Every- 
body liked  her — everybody  praised  her ;  and  husbands 
are  always  proud  to  have  their  wives  liked  and  praised. 

The  rector  was  very  proud  of  his  Susannah. 
E 


68  KING    ARTHUR. 

They  strolled  peacefully  together  through  the  village, 
administering  ghostly  counsel  and  advice ;  together  with 
creature  comforts  which  Mrs.  Trevena  held  to  be  equally 
desirable.  She  was  a  capital  clergyman's  wife  —  she 
liked  to  "  mother  "  everybody. 

As  usual,  their  walk  ended  in  the  church,  which  was 
open  for  its  Saturday  cleaning.  It  was  a  curious  old 
building — very  "  tumble-down,"  the  parish  thought,  but 
was  happily  too  poor  to  have  it  ''restored";  so  it  re- 
mained for  the  delight  of  archaeologists,  and  especially 
of  Mr.  Trevena.  He  never  wearied  of  examining  the 
brasses,  the  old  monuments,  the  huge  worm-eaten,  curi- 
ously carved  pews ;  and  especially  "  the  Squire's  pew," 
as  large  as  a  small  parlor,  where  the  last  Damerels,  the 
baronet  and  his  lady,  had  been  accustomed  to  sit  in  two 
huge  arm-chairs  over  the  bones  of  their  ancestors.  Their 
own  bones  were  now  added  to  the  rest ;  and  the  tablet 
describing  their  virtues,  writh  a  weeping  angel  on  each 
side,  took  its  place  with  the  recumbent  crusader,  and  the 
well-ruffed  Elizabethan  knight,  with  his  kneeling  progeny 
behind  him. 

"  What  a  splendid  old  family  they  must  have  been ! 
Probably  Norman — D'Amiral  corrupted  into  Damerel. 
Ah!" — and  he  laid  a  caressing  hand  on  the  head  of 
the  noseless  and  footless  crusader — "  it  is  a  great  thing 
to  come  of  a  good  race,  and  to  bear  an  honorable 
name." 

"  Is  it  ? "  said  Susannah  quietly,  and  thought  of  the 
poor  half-witted  boy — the  heir  whom  her  neighbors  had 
told  her  of,  and  then  of  her  own  boy — her  nameless 
baby — full  of  health  and  strength  and  intelligence,  yet 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  69 

without  a  tie  in  the  wide  world.  Only  he  was,  as  she 
had  once  said,  "  God's  child  " — and  hers. 

He  had  been  hers  for  nearly  two  years.  She  had 
almost  forgotten — and  everybody  else  too — that  he  was 
t  not  really  her  own ;  even  the  rector  himself  was  taking 
kindly  to  his  paternity,  accepting  it  as  he  did  the  other 
good  things  which  had  dropped  into  his  mouth  without 
his  seeking — when  something  happened  which,  for  the 
time  being,  shook  the  happy  little  household  to  its  very 
foundations. 

Mrs.  Trevena,  one  bright  June  day,  had  put  on  her 
bonnet  to  go  and  meet  her  child,  who  had  been  "kid- 
napped" as  they  called  it — by  the  large  kindly  plebeian 
family,  one  of  the  many  nouveaux  riches  that  con- 
veniently step  into  the  shoes  of  aristocratic  poverty,  who 
inhabited  Tawton  Abbas.  She  was  passing  through  the 
churchyard  into  the  park,  idly  thinking  how  beautiful  it 
was,  how  bright  her  life  here  had  grown,  and  what  had 
she  done  to  deserve  it  all — when  she  came  suddenly  face 
to  face  with  a  strange  gentleman,  who  was  apparently 
wandering  about,  trying  to  find  his  way  to  the  rectory. 
He  was  well-dressed  and  well-looking;  but  he  seemed 
less  like  an  ordinary  visitor  than  a  prowler.  Also, 
though  rather  a  handsome  man,  there  was  something 
sinister  in  his  face;  he  was  one  of  those  people  who 
never  look  you  straight  in  the  eyes. 

He  stood  aside  as  the  lady  passed,  with  a  half-bow, 
which  she  acknowledged.  But  the  instant  she  had 
passed,  a  vague  terror  seized  Susannah — the  one  little 
cloud  which  secretly  hung  over  her  entire  felicity — 
the  fear  that  her  treasure  might  be  grudged  her,  or 


70  KING  AKTHUB. 

snatched  from  her,  by  the  woman  who  had  thrown  it 
away  ?  She  had  taken  every  precaution  to  leave  behind 
at  Andermatt  no  possible  clue;  even  Madame  at  the 
hotel,  though  she  knew  the  names  Trevena  and  Franklin, 
knew  no  further  address  than  "England"  and  ''Amer- 
ica." Often  when  she  looked  at  her  bright,  beautiful 
boy,  a  spasm  of  fear  came  over  her,  so  that  she  could 
hardly  bear  to  let  him  out  of  her  sight. 

This  dread  took  hold  of  her  now.  What  if  the 
stranger  were  an  emissary  from  Arthur's  unknown 
mother — or  his  father — the  "fool  of  a  husband" — W7hom 
she  had  so  despised  ?  At  the  bare  idea  Mrs.  Trevena's 
heart  almost  stopped  beating.  But  it  was  not  her  way 
to  fly  from  an  evil :  she  preferred  to  meet  it — and  at 
once.  She  turned  back  and  spoke. 

"You.  seem  a  stranger  here.  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

"  Thank  you — yes,  I  suppose  I  am  a  stranger.  I  have 
not  been  in  England  for  some  years." 

A  likeness  in  the  tones  of  the  voice — family  voices 
ofter  resemble  one  another  like  family  faces — startled 
Susannah,  and  yet  relieved  her.  She  was  almost  pre- 
pared for  the  "  stranger's  "  next  words. 

"  I  am  told  that  this  is  the  village  of  Tawton  Magna, 
and  the  Reverend  Austin  Trevena  is  rector  here  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  would  you  kindly  direct  me  to  the  rectory  ?  I 
am  Captain  Trevena,  his  brother." 

Hal,  of  whom  they  had  heard  nothing  since  the  letter 
received  at  Andermatt — Hal  come  back  from  Australia ! 
It  was  a  great  blow,  and  might  involve  much  perplexity ; 


NOT   A   LOVE    STOET.  71 

but  it  could  not  strike  her  to  the  heart,  as  the  other  blow 
would  have  done,  had  the  stranger  been  some  one  coming 
to  claim  her  child.  After  a  momentary  start  Susannah 
was  herself  again. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  since  his  boyhood  she  had 
never  seen  her  brother-in-law ;  who  evidently  did  not 
remember  her  at  all.  At  first  she  thought  she  would 
accept  this  non-recognition  and  pass  on  ;  but  it  seemed 
cowardly.  And  besides  she  would  soon  have  to  face  him  ; 
for  whatever  his  sudden  appearance  might  bode,  she  was 
quite  sure  it  boded  no  good.  Hal's  fraternal  affection 
always  lay  dormant — unless  he  wanted  something. 

So,  looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes,  but  putting  out 
no  hand  of  welcome,  she  said  briefly,  "  I  am  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena.  That  is  the  gate  of  the  rectory,"  and  walked  on 
towards  Tawton  Abbas. 

In  most  families  there  is  one  black  sheep — happy  if 
only  one !  for  the  well  being  of  the  whole  family  depends 
upon  its  treatment  of  the  same,  treatment  wise  or  un- 
wise, as  may  happen.  Few  black  sheep  are  wholly 
black ;  and  some  may,  with  care  and  prudence,  be  kept 
a  decent  gray ;  but  to  make  believe  they  are  snow-white, 
and  allow  them  to  run  among  the  harmless  flock,  smirch- 
ing every  one  they  come  near,  is  a  terrible  mistake. 
Perhaps  Susannah  sometimes  recognized,  with  as  much 
bitterness  as  her  sweet  nature  could  feel,  that  this  mis- 
take had  all  through  life  been  made  by  her  husband. 

She  knew  Austin  was  at  home,  and  thought  it  best 
the  brothers  should  meet — since  they  must  meet — quite 
alone ;  while  she  gathered  up  all  her  courage,  all  her 
common  sense,  to  face  the  position.  Captain  Trevena — 


2  KIISG   ARTHUR. 

as  he  called  himself,  having  been  in  the  militia  once,  till 
he  was  turned  out — had  not  attempted  to  follow  her. 
Perhaps  he  was  afraid  of  her ;  or  thought  he  had  good 
need  to  he  ;  which  was  true. 

A  kind  of  superstitious  halo  has  been  thrown  round 
the  heads  of  prodigal  sons — doubtless  originating  in  the 
divine  parable,  or  the  human  corruption  of  it.  Only 
people  forget  how  that  prodigal  son,  saying,  "  I  will 
arise,"  really  does  arise,  leaving  behind  him  his  riot- 
ous living,  his  husks  and  his  swine.  He  goes  to  his 
father,  humbled  and  poor,  and  his  father  welcomes  and 
loves  him.  But  most  prodigal  sons  bring  their  husks 
and  their  swine  with  them,  nor  ever  condescend  to  say, 
"  I  have  sinned."  They  appear,  as  Hal  Trevena  did,  as 
he  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  doing — neither  hun- 
gry nor  naked,  but  quite  cheerful  and  comfortable.  They 
may  cry  "Peccavi,"  but  it  never  occurs  to  them  to  for- 
sake their  sins,  or  to  feel  any  more  penitence  than  is 
picturesque  and  convenient  to  show. 

This  had  been  Halbert  Trevena's  character  for  the  last 
forty  years ;  and  Susannah,  suddenly  meeting  him  after 
a  long  interval,  and  judging  him  by  feminine  instinct, 
as  well  as  by  the  bitter  experience  of  the  past,  did  not 
think  he  was  likely  to  be  altered  now. 

She  walked  rapidly  on  through  the  pleasant,  solitary 
park,  both  to  calm  her  mind,  and  to  consider  how  she 
was  to  face  this  emergency:  which  on  the  outside 
appeared  nothing  more  than  the  meeting — supposed  a. 
welcome  meeting — between  long  separated  brothers. 
But,  underneath — she  knew,  only  too  well,  what  it 
implied.  And  not  the  least  of  the  difficulties  was  her 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  73 

good,  tender-hearted  husband,  who,  absorbed  in  his 
books,  never  looked  ahead  for  a  single  week,  and  whose 
own  nature  was  so  sweet  and  simple,  that  he  could  not 
imagine  the  contrary  in  any  human  being. 

Susannah  hastened  on  with  quick  troubled  steps,  till 
she  saw  Manette  and  little  Arthur  coming  down  the 
path. 

"  Mammy,  mammy !  " — he  could  just  say  that  word 
now,  and  oh,  what  a  thrill  had  gone  through  her  heart 
when  she  first  heard  it !  Stretching  out  eager  arms,  he 
tried  to  struggle  out  of  his  perambulator  and  get  to  her 
— "  Up,  up  !  in  mammy's  arms  !  " 

She  took  him  up  and  clasped  him  tight — her  one 
blessing  that  was  all  her  own.  More  so  perhaps  than  if 
he  had  been  really  her  own,  and  had  to  call  Hal  Trevena 
"  Uncle."  As  the  thought  smote  her,  involuntarily  she 
said  "  Thank  God  ! "  But  the  clinging  of  his  baby  arms, 
the  kiss  of  his  baby  mouth,  melted  the  bitterness  out  of 
her  heart :  after  a  few  minutes  she  felt  herself  able  to 
return  to  the  house,  and  meet  whatever  was  required  to 
be  met  there.  The  sooner  the  better,  for  who  could  tell 
what  might  be  happening  in  her  absence  ? 

She  found  the  two  brothers  sitting  together  in  the 
study,  looking  as  comfortable  as  if  they  had  parted  only 
yesterday.  At  least  Hal  did  ;  but  Austin  had  a  troubled 
air,  which  he  tried  to  hide  under  an  exaggeration  of 
ease.  When  his  wife  opened  the  door  he  looked  up  with 
great  relief. 

"  My  dear,  this  is  Hal,  from  Australia.  You  must 
remember  Hal,  though  it  is  so  many  years  since  you  saw 
him." 

4 


74:  KING   ARTHUR. 

"  Twenty-four  years.  But  half  an  hour  ago  he  asked 
me  to  direct  him  to  the  rectory.  He  was  not  aware,  I 
think,  that  he  was  .speaking  to  the  mistress  of  the  house." 

And  she  sat  down,  still  without  offering  her  hand,  as 
if  to  make  clear  that  she  was  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
and  had  determined  to  assert  her  position. 

Captain  Trevena  was  a  shrewd  man,  a  good  deal 
shrewder  and  more  quick-sighted  than  his  brother ;  he 
too  saw  his  position,  and  recognized  that  things  might 
not  go  quite  so  easily  with  him  as  when  the  Reverend 
Austin  was  a  bachelor.  Still,  he  smiled  and  bowed  in 
bland  politeness. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  come  to  my  brother's  home,  and 
see  it  adorned  with  a  wife.  I  only  wish  I  had  brought 
mine  here.  Mrs.  Trevena  (excuse  me,  but  as  the  eldest 
son's  wife  she  has  the  first  right)  is  a  very  handsome 
person,  and  our  eldest  son,  the  heir  to  the  Trevena  name, 
takes  after  her.  I  should  have  liked  you  to  see  them, 
Austin ;  but,  considering  all  things,  I  thought  it  best  to 
leave  them  both  in  Australia  for  the  present." 

"  Of  course — of  course,"  said  Mr.  Trevena.  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena said  nothing.  If  for  a  second  a  natural  pang  smote 
her  heart,  it  was  healed  immediately.  For,  through  the 
window  she  could  see  a  pretty  vision  of  Manette's  blue 
gown,  with  two  little  fat  legs  trotting  after  it  along  the 
gravel  path.  She  turned  round,  smiling — she  could 
afford  to  smile. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  happy  in  your  wife  and  son.  But 
why  leave  them  ?  What  call  had  you  to  England  ? " 

"To  see  my  brother — was  it  not  natural?  An  old 
Times  fell  into  my  hands,  in  which  I  read  what  (of 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  75 

course  by  some  mistake)  lie  had  never  told  me — the  pres- 
entation of  the  Reverend  Austin  Trevena  to  the  living 
of  Tawton  Magna— value — I  forget  how  much.  So  I 
thought  I  would  come,  just  to — to  congratulate  him." 

"  A  long  journey  for  so  small  an  object.  And  having 
accomplished  it,  I  suppose  you  will  return  ?  " 

"  If  my  brother  wishes  it,  and  if  he  will  give  me  a 
little  brotherly  help." 

"  I  thought  so." 

Brief  as  this  conversation  was,  it  showed  to  both  the 
brother  and  sister-in-law  exactly  where  they  stood.  The 
big,  hearty,  well-dressed  man  looked  across  at  the  homely 
little  woman,  and  felt  that  times  were  changed :  it  was 
war  to  the  knife  between  them,  and  could  not  be  other- 
wise. 

Had  he  come  like  the  proverbial  prodigal,  in  rags  and 
repentance,  Susannah's  heart  might  have  melted.  She 
might  have  killed  the  fatted  calf,  even  though  fearing  it 
was  in  vain  :  she  might  have  put  the  ring  on  his  finger, 
though  with  a  strong  suspicion  that  he  would  pawn  it 
the  very  next  day.  But  now,  when  he  came,  fat  and 
well-liking,  yet  with  the  same  never-ending  cry,  like 
the  daughters  of  the  horse-leech,  "  Give,  give ! "  she  felt 
herself  hardening  into  stone. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  your  brother's  income,  of  which  you 
have  evidently  known  the  extent,  is  absorbed  by  his  own 
family  and  his  parish.  He  has  for  years  supplied  you 
with  so  much  that  he  cannot  possibly  do  any  more.  He 
ought  not." 

"  No,  Hal,"  said  the  rector,  gathering  a  little  courage, 
and  taking  Susannah's  hand  as  she  sat  beside  him. 


76  KING    AETHUR. 

"  Indeed,  I  ought  not.  You  know  I  was  telling  you  this 
before  my  wife  came  into  the  room." 

"My  husband  is  right,"  said  Susannah  firmly. 
"  Therefore,  Captain  Trevena,  all  I  can  offer  you  is  a 
night's  hospitality.  After  that  we  had  better  part." 

"  My  dear  sister,  why  ? " 

"  A  man  with  a  wife  and  child  has  no  business  to 
leave  them  and  go  wandering  about  the  world,  even  for 
the  very  desirable  purpose  of  begging  money  from  his 
relations.  He  had  better  stay  at  home  and  work." 

"  A  gentleman  work  ! "  Hal  laughed ;  that  easy,  good- 
natured  laugh  which  made  people  think  him  so  charm- 
ing. "  My  dear  lady,  it  is  out  of  the  nature  of  things — 
you  can't  expect  it.  I  never  did  work — I  never  shall." 

"  I  believe  you."  The  only  thing  he  could  say,  Susan- 
nah might  have  added,  that  she  did  believe.  He  was 
such  a  confirmed  liar  that  she  began  to  think  even  the 
wife  and  child  might  be  mythical  creations,  invented  in 
order  to  play  upon  Austin's  feelings. 

"  Nor,"  he  continued  lightly,  "  is  there  any  special 
reason  why  I  should  work.  My  wife  is  an  heiress — her 
father  made  his  fortune  at  the  gold-diggings.  The  old 
fellow  dotes  upon  her — even  more  than  upon  me.  He 
likes  to  keep  her  all  to  himself,  and  so  makes  it  easy  for 
me  to  run  away  and  amuse  myself." 

"  How  comes  it  then  that  you  want  money  ? " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Hyde  (beg  pardon,  but  I  heard  of  you 
as  Susannah  Hyde  for  so  many  years  that  I  almost  for- 
get you  are  anything  else  now),  a  gentleman  always 
wants  money.  But  it  is  only  a  temporary  inconvenience. 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  repay  Austin  every  farthing — 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  77 

with  interest  too,  if  he  wishes  it — as  soon  as  ever  I  get 
back  to  Australia." 

"  And  when  will  that  be  ? " 

"  Cela  depend.  By  the  bye,  there  is  a  pretty  young 
bonne  upon  whom  I  was  airing  my  French  an  hour  ago 
in  the  road.  I  see  her  now  in  your  garden  with  her 
1 UU:  Whose  child  is  that  ?  » 

"  Mine,"  said  Susannah  firmly. 

"  Yours  ?  I  thought  Austin  told  me  he  had  no  chil- 
dren." 

"  Nor  have  we.  This  is  our  adopted  child.  We  found 
him,  and  we  mean  to  keep  him  and  bring  him  up  as  our 
son." 

"  And  heir  ?     To  inherit  all  you  possess  ?  " 

"  What  little  there  is  left — certainly." 

As  Susannah  spoke — slowly  and  resolutely — Captain 
Trevena's  handsome  face  grew  dark;  his  bland  voice 
sharpened. 

"  Truly,  this  is  a  pretty  state  of  things  for  a  long- 
absent  brother  to  come  home  to — a  sister-in-law,  not  too 
affectionate,  and  an  unexpected — nephew.  I  congratu- 
late, you,  Austin,  on  your  son.  Some  beggar's  brat,  I 
suppose,  whom  your  wife  has  picked  up  in  the  street  and 
made  a  pet  of — like  a  stray  dog  or  half-starved  cat. 
What  noble  charity !  " 

"Not  charity  at  all,"  answered  Susannah,  seeing  that 
her  husband  left  her  to  answer,  as  was  his  habit  on  diffi- 
cult occasions.  "  It  pleased  God  to  take  away  our  only 
child  ;  but  He  gave  us  this  one  instead.  And,  as  I  said, 
we  mean  to  keep  him.  If  we  bring  him  up  rightly,  he 
will  be  the  comfort  of  our  old  age." 


78  KING   ARTHUR. 

"  Indeed  ?  But  meantime  a  child  is  a  rather  expen- 
sive luxury — too  expensive,  to  make  it  possible  ever  to 
help  others — your  own  flesh  and  blood,  for  instance.  I 
thought,  Austin,  that  charity  began  at  home ;  and  that 
blood  was  thicker  than  water  ?  " 

Poor  Austin !  he  regarded  his  brother  with  that  wor- 
ried, badgered,  perplexed  look,  so  familiar  to  his  face 
once,  but  which  the  peace  of  later  years  had  almost 
driven  away.  Susannah  knew  it  well  enough ;  it  brought 
back  a  vision  of  the  long  hopeless  time  of  their  engage- 
ment, when  she  was  passive  and  powerless.  But  she 
was  neither  now.  It  was  not  necessary — it  was  not 
right. 

"Halbert  Trevena,"  she  said,  quietly  enough,  but 
with  flashing  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks,  "  how  dare  you, 
who  have  been  a  drain  upon  your  brother  all  his  life — a 
perpetual  thorn  in  his  side  and  grief  to  his  heart — how 
dare  you  talk  of  blood  being  thicker  than  water  ? " 

"  Susannah — my  dear  Susannah,  be  patient !  "  said 
the  rector  in  a  deprecating  tone.  "  You  see,  Hal,  we 
don't  want  to  be  hard  upon  you ;  but  really,  you  seem 
so  well  off,  and  your  wife,  you  say,  is  an  heiress.  We, 
now,  Susannah  and  I,  can  only  just  make  ends  meet,  I 
assure  you." 

He  spoke  meekly — almost  apologetically.  But  with 
Susannah  the  day  of  meekness  was  past.  "  Captain  Tre- 
vena, it  is  best  to  be  plain  with  you.  I  am  mistress 
of  this  house.  I  will  give  you  a  night's  lodging,  but 
nothing  more.  With  my  consent,  my  husband  shall  not 
waste  upon  you  a  single  halfpenny.  What  money  he 
has  left,  that  you  have  not  robbed  him  of,  he  may  leave 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  79 

you  by  will ;  but  while  he  lives  his  income  is  not  yours 
— it  is  mine." 

Sternly  as  it  was  spoken,  this  was  the  truth  of  the 
case,  both  in  law  and  equity,  and  both  brothers  knew  it. 
The  cunning  one  shrugged  his  shoulders — the  weak  one 
sighed ;  but  neither  attempted  to  controvert  it. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Austin  at  last,  "  one's  wife  is  nearer 
than  one's  brother ;  and  Susannah  never  speaks  without 
having  well  considered  everything." 

"  Excellent  wife !  Admirable  marriage  laws ! "  said 
Hal,  tapping  his  boot  with  his  cane — a  very  handsome 
silver-mounted  cane.  In  fact,  all  the  attire  of  this  poor 
prodigal  was  of  the  most  expensive  kind.  " '  What's 
thine  is  mine,  and  what's  mine  is  my  own ! '  is  a  well- 
known  saying.  But  I  always  thought,  Austin,  that  this 
rule  applied  to  us,  and  not  to  the  ladies.  However, 
tempora  mutant  mores — especially  family  manners. 
Perhaps  I  had  better  go.  '  It  may  be  for  years  and  it 
may  be  for  ever ! '  as  the  song  says.  Well — good-bye, 
Austin." 

Susannah's  heart  softened — her  husband  looked  so 
very  unhappy.  After  all,  Hal  was  his  brother.  They 
had  been  boys  together;  and  there  was  still  between 
them  that  external  family  likeness,  not  incompatible 
with  the  greatest  unlikeness  internally.  The  law  of 
heredity  has  freaks  so  strange  that  sometimes  one  almost 
doubts  its  existence ;  yet  it  does  exist,  though  abound- 
ing in  mysteries  capable  of  great  modification ;  and 
above  all,  full  of  the  most  solemn  individual  warnings. 

"I  think  you  should  go,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena;  "but 
go  to-morrow,  not  to-day.  Your  ways  are  so  different 


80  KING   ARTHUR. 

from  ours,  that  we  are  better  apart ;  still,  do  not  let  us 
part  unkindly.  And  carry  back  our  good  wishes  to 
your  wife  and  child.  May  you  live  a  happy  life  with 
them,  and  make  them  happy  !  It  is  not  too  late." 

For  a  minute  perhaps,  this  man,  who  had  never  made 
any  human  being  aught  but  miserable  in  all  his  days, 
felt  a  twinge  of  regret ;  the  wing  of  the  passing  angel 
touched  his  heart — if  he  had  one.  He  scanned  his 
sister-in-law,  half  in  earnest,  as  if  questioning  whether 
she  was  in  earnest,  and  then  the  light  sarcastic  laugh 
returned.  The  good  angel  was  gone. 

"  Oh  dear,  no !  "Not  too  late  at  all.  I  am  the  most 
domestic  man  alive.  I  adore  my  home — when  I  am  at 
home.  And  my  wife — when  I  can  get  her.  But  as  I 
said,  she  has  such  a  devoted  papa — a  millionaire — that  I 
rarely  can  get  her.  You  see,  Austin  ? " 

Austin  did  not  see,  but  his  wife  did,  and  turned  away ; 
remembering  bitterly  that  hopeless  proverb  about  the 
silk  purse  and  the  sow's  ear ;  and  thinking  with  a  vague 
pity  of  her  unknown  sister-in-law — the  mother  who  had 
a  son  of  her  very  own. 

But  before  she  had  time  to  speak  came  the  pattering 
of  little  feet  outside,  and  the  battering  of  tiny  hands 
against  the  study  door. 

"I  will  leave  you  now,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  rising. 
"  You  and  Austin  will  like  a  chat  together.  We  dine 
at  two — our  early  dinner;  we  are  homely  people — as 
you  see." 

u  But  most  delightful !  I  think  I  never  saw  such  a 
picturesque  house ;  or," — as  the  door  flew  open  and  dis- 
closed "King"  Arthur  standing  there — a  veritable  little 


NOT  A   LOVE    STORY.  81 

king — with  his  rosy  cheeks,  his  cloud  of  curly  hair,  and 
his  sturdy  healthy  frame, — "  or  a  more  attractive  child. 
Come  in,  sir  !  Let  me  see  the  young  interloper." 

And  Hal  made  as  though  he  would  take  him  in  his 
arms,  but  Susannah  sprang  forward  and  took  him  in 
hers ;  from  which  safe  vantage-ground  the  child  looked 
out,  facing  the  man  with  his  honest  baby  eyes. 

Children  have  strange  instincts — are  often  wonderful 
judges  of  character.  Allure  as  Hal  might,  and  did, 
nothing  would  induce  little  Arthur  to  kiss  him,  or  even 
let  himself  be  touched  by  him.  The  pretty  under  lip 
began  to  fall ;  he  clung  to  his  mother,  and  would  shortly 
have  burst  into  an  open  cry,  had  not  Susannah  carried 
him  away — as  she  wisely  did — at  all  times  when  his 
angel-hood  melted  into  common  baby-hood.  As  she 
did  so,  she  caught  the  expression  of  her  brother-in-law's 
eyes,  which  made  her  clasp  her  little  one  all  the  closer. 
"  King  "  Arthur — born  amongst  foes,  having  to  be  pro- 
tected from  his  own  mother,  and  from  all  his  unknown 
kin — would,  she  perceived,  have  to  be  protected  against 
one  enemy  more. 

Glad  as  she  was  to  escape,  she  knew  she  must  not  be 
absent  long:  she  dared  not.  If  ever  man  combined  the 
serpent  with  the  dove  —  the  smoothest,  most  dainty 
feathered,  and  low-voiced  of  doves  —  it  was  Halbert 
Trevena.  Many  a  time  in  old  days  he  had  wound  his 
brother  round  his  little  finger;  flattered  him — cajoled 
him — and  finally  fleeced  him  out  of  every  halfpenny  he 
had.  All  right,  of  course :  for  were  they  not  brothers  ? 
And  have  not  a  man's  own  family  the  first  claim  upon 

him,  no  matter  whether  they  deserve  it  or  not?     So 
4* 


82  KING  ARTHUR. 

reason  many  excellent  and  virtuous  folk.  Are  they  right 
— or  wrong  ? 

"  Poor  Austin ! "  the  wife  muttered,  in  pity  rather 
than  in  anger,  as  she  thought  of  the  two  closeted  to- 
gether, and  what  harm  might  possibly  ensue.  And  then 
Arthur  came  with  his  entreating  "  Up — up !  "  and  the 
clinging  of  his  innocent  arms. 

"  My  darling ! "  cried  Susannah,  almost  sobbing. 
"  ISTo — blood  is  not  thicker  than  water — unless  love  goes 
with  it,  and  respect,  and  honor.  My  boy — my  own 
boy ! "  she  put  back  the  curls  and  looked  straight  down 
into  the  pure,  cloudless,  infant  eyes.  "  Be  a  good  boy — 
grow  up  a  good  man — and  no  one  will  ever  ask  how  you 
were  born." 

She  allowed  herself  a  brief  rest  in  giving  Arthur  his 
dinner,  and  smiled  to  see  how  before  he  ate  a  mouthful 
himself  he  insisted  on  feeding  the  dog  and  the  cat,  and 
even  offered  a  morsel  to  the  woolly  lamb — his  pet  play- 
thing, which  always  stood  on  the  table  beside  him.  "  The 
boy  is  father  to  the  man;"  and  Susannah  had  already 
detected  in  her  baby  many  a  trait  of  character  which  all 
the  education  in  the  world  could  never  have  put  into 
him.  Even  at  two  years  old  there  was  a  natural  courtesy 
about  "King"  Arthur;  an  instinct  of  tenderness  to  all 
helpless  things.  And  Susannah  was  far-sighted  enough 
to  be  soothed  and  cheered.  The  dread,  which  every 
mother  must  have  with  every  child,  lest  it  should  not 
grow  up  as  she  could  wish,  was  in  her  case  doubled  and 
trebled ;  for  of  necessity  she  was  ever  on  the  watch  for 
hereditary  qualities,  mental  and  physical,  which  must  be 
modified  and  guarded  against.  And  yet,  perhaps,  this 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  83 

battle  with  unknown  evils  was  not  worse  than  the  pang 
which  some  parents  must  feel,  to  see  their  own  or  others' 
faults  reappearing  in  their  child. 

"  If  I  were  Mrs.  Halbert  Trevena — and  my  son  grew 
up  like  his  father ! "  thought  Susannah,  with  a  shudder ; 
and  almost  thanked  God  that  her  child  was*not  her  own 
— or  he  might  have  been  like  his  uncle. 

But  little  Arthur — blessed  child ! — feared  no  future 
and  no  past.  He  was  perfectly  happy  in  his  sunshiny 
nursery — the  room  in  which  the  late  rector  had  died, 
after  inhabiting  it  for  fifty  years,  and  which  the  servants 
had  been  half  afraid  of,  till  the  baby- voice  exorcised  all 
ghosts.  There  the  little  "  King  "  reigned  supreme,  with 
his  two  dumb  companions.  They  lived  in  mysterious 
but  perfect  harmony — dog,  cat,  and  child.  They  played 
together,  fed  together,  slept  together — for  often  Susannah 
would  come  in  and  find  Arthur  lying  on  the  rug  with 
his  head  on  the  dog's  neck  and  the  cat  in  his  arms — all 
three  sound  asleep. 

It  was  always  hard  to  tear  herself  from  that  pleasant 
room ;  where  two  years  of  firm  control  and  careful  love 
had  made  a  naturally  healthy  and  sweet-tempered  baby 
into  a  thoroughly  good  child ;  so  that  his  mother  and 
Manette  had  rarely  any  trouble  with  him,  beyond  the 
ordinary  little  vagaries  of  childhood — the  worst  being  a 
tendency  to  cry  after  " Mammy,"  whenever  he  saw  her 
preparing  to  leave  him — as  now. 

"  Mammy  must  go — she  must  have  her  dinner,  my 
boy ;  but  she  will  come  back  directly  afterwards.  She 
promises ! " 

Already  the  infant  mind  had  taken  in  the  fact  that 
F 


84:  KING  ARTHUR. 

"Mammy's"  promises  were  always  to  be  relied  on — that 
mammy  meant  what  she  said — and  did  it.  And  though 
he  still  could  not  talk  much,  Arthur  understood  every 
word  she  said,  and  obeyed  it  too ;  for  absolute  obedience 
was  the  first  lesson  Susannah  had  taught  her  child.  The 
little  face  cleared,  the  detaining  arms  relaxed ;  he  toddled 
back  to  his  four-footed  friends,  and  made  himself  quite 
happy.  ~No  sorrow  lasts  long  at  two  years  old. 

But  Mrs.  Trevena,  the  instant  she  shut  the  nursery 
door,  felt  her  cares  leap  back  upon  her  with  double 
fierceness.  As  she  arranged  her  dress  at  the  glass,  she 
thought  of  that  "  very  handsome  person  " — her  sister-in- 
law,  not  in  envy,  but  in  pity ;  wondering  what  was  the 
real  truth  about  her  and  about  the  marriage ;  for  all  Hal's 
statements  had  to  be  guessed  at  rather  than  believed. 
He  had  never  held  facts  in  the  least  degree  necessary. 

She  looked  out  into  the  garden,  expecting  to  see  the 
brothers  sauntering  round  it,  for  the  rector  was  always 
proud  to  show  his  garden.  Well  he  might  be :  for  it 
was  a  perfect  picture,  with  its  green  lawn  in  front,  its 
background  of  stately  trees,  and  its  kitchen-garden  at  the 
side — a  regular  old  English  kitchen-garden,  where  flow- 
ers, fruit,  and  vegetables  all  flourished  together.  Poly- 
anthus and  auriculas  edged  the  beds  where  the  young 
peas  were  rising  in  green  rows,  and  the  high  south  wall, 
sheltered  and  sunny,  was  one  mass  of  peach,  apricot,  and 
nectarine  blossoms.  But  nobody  admired  them — the 
garden  was  deserted.  Susannah  went  straight  to  the 
study,  and  there  found  her  husband — alone. 

"  Hal  has  just  gone  out,  but  he  will  be  back  to  din- 
ner ;  unless,  as  he  says,  he  finds  ;  metal  more  attractive.' 


NOT    A   LOVE    STORY.  85 

Which  is  not  likely,  as  he  knows  nobody  in  these  parts. 
He  came  direct  from  London,  and  must  go  back  again 
there — immediately." 

Mr.  Trevena  spoke  lightly,  but  with  a  certain  depreca- 
tion of  manner,  which  attracted  his  wife's  notice. 

"  Immediately  means  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  Or  perhaps  to-night.  Poor  Hal !  He  is  very  poor, 
my  dear.  "We  ought  to  be  kind  to  him." 

"  I  wish  to  be  kind  to  him — if  he  deserves  it." 

"  He  may  do  so.  It  is  never  too  late  to  mend.  And, 
my  Susannah — you  remember  the  command,  '  seventy 
times  seven.' " 

Susannah,  feeling  almost  like  a  wretch — a  hard- 
hearted, unchristian  wretch — clasped  the  long-beloved 
hand,  generous  as  a  child's — and  often  as  unwise  in  its 
generosity.  But  that  instant  something  aroused  her 
suspicions. 

"  Why  is  your  desk  open,  Austin  ?  Shall  I  lock  it  for 
you ?  Your  check-book  is  in  it? " 

"  Stop  a  minute,  dear.  That  check-book — Hal  really 
had  not  a  halfpenny,  though  his  remittances  from  Aus- 
tralia are  due  next  week.  He  will  repay  me — I  am  sure 
he  will;  so  I  gave  him  a  small  sum — you  won't  mind, 
dear  ?  It  was  very  little." 

"  How  much  \ " 

"  Only  twenty  pounds." 

"  Twenty-five  pounds  was  all  we  had  in  the  bank ; 
and  it  will  be  six  weeks  before  our  next  dividends  are 
due." 

This  was  all  Susannah  said — what  good  was  it  to  say 
anything  more  ?  But  she  dropped  her  husband's  hand 


86  KING   AETHUR. 

and  sat  down,  in  passive  acquiescence  to  fate.  The  old 
thing  all  over  again !  the  same  quiet  endurance,  but 
none  the  less  the  same  bitter,  resentful  pain.  All  the 
bitterer  that  there  was  nothing  actually  to  resent.  Aus- 
tin's invariable  sweetness — his  unbounded  love  for  her — 
his  trust  in  her,  almost  as  implicit  as  a  child's — she  could 
not  be  angry  with  him. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  my  dear,"  said  he  penitently,  "  but  I 
had  no  idea  of  the  state  of  our  finances.  As  Hal  says — 
it  is  you  who  manage  everything.  I  will  ask  him  to  take 
a  smaller  check — say  just  five  pounds — when  he  comes 
back  again." 

"  When  he  comes  back  again !  "  repeated  Susannah 
bitterly.  "  He  will  not  come  back." 

Nor  did  he.  They  waited  dinner — half  an  hour — an 
hour — Austin  was  so  certain  that  his  brother  had 
"  turned  over  a  new  leaf  " — except,  perhaps,  in  punctu- 
ality at  meals.  They  then  sent  down  to  the  village  in 
search  of  "  the  gentleman  who  had  been  at  the  rectory ; " 
not  saying  "  the  rector's  brother,"  lest  he  might  be  found 
at  the  public-house — though  that  was  unlikely,  drink  not 
being  one  of  Hal's  besetting  sins.  But  they  found  him 
nowhere.  He  had  vanished — probably  by  some  field- 
path,  to  the  nearest  railway  station — with  the  check  in 
his  pocket,  and  nothing  more  was  heard  of  him  for 
years. 


CHAPTER     IV. 

"HAPPY  is  the  nation  which  has  no  history,"  and 
happy  is  the  family  without  any  startling  incidents  to 
break  the  smooth  current  of  its  uneventful  years. 

Such,  for  a  long  time,  was  the  lot  of  the  little  family 
at  the  rectory — really  a  family  now — father,  mother, 
and  child.  And  the  child  brought  hope  with  it — hope 
and  interest  and  joy  in  life.  Sometimes  Susannah, 
looking  back  upon  old  days,  especially  the  dark  days 
after  her  little  baby  died,  wondered  how  she  could  have 
borne  them. 

She  had  an  easier  life  now  in  many  ways  than  she  had 
ever  known.  Of  money — alas !  how  the  lack  of  it,  or 
the  wrong  use  of  it,  strikes  at  the  very  root  of  family 
peace! — of  money  there  was  enough,  though  nothing 
to  spare,  for  with  a  larger  income  came  heavier  claims, 
as  must  always  be  the  case  with  a  clergyman.  Still, 
the  sharp  struggle  of  poverty  was  over  for  ever  with 
Austin  and  Susannah :  and  they  soon  grew  to  love 
dearly  the  pretty  rectory,  and  simple  country  parish, 
which  had  been  to  them  a  refuge,  though  late,  from  the 
storms  of  life,  and  where  they  were  content  to  lie  at 
anchor  for  the  rest  of  their  days. 

Of  course,  no  human  lives  can  be  quite  free  from  cares, 


88  KING  AETHUR. 

and  they  had  theirs  ;  but  in  most  lives,  if  we  investigate 
them,  far  fewer  troubles  come  from  without  than  from 
within :  and  the  Trevenas  had  known  enough  of  real 
sorrows  never  to  invent  for  themselves  imaginary  or  un- 
necessary ones.  They  were  glad  of  happiness,  and  made 
the  most  of  it  whenever  it  came. 

For  days,  weeks,  months,  Austin  expected  his  brother's 
reappearance  with  a  nervous  anxiety — a  mingled  hope 
and  fear  that  was  trying  enough  to  his  wife.  But  Hal 
never  did  reappear,  or  make  any  sign  of  existence. 
Austin's  hope,  and  Susannah's  fear — a  double  fear  now, 
since  that  truly  "  wicked  "  look  which  she  had  caught 
directed  against  her  child — gradually  subsided. 

Also  another  unspoken  dread,  which  when  Arthur 
grew  up  from  "the  beautifullest  baby  that  ever  was 
seen/'  whom  all  the  village  was  proud  of,  into  a  really 
splendid  boy,  began  to  dawn  upon  his  adopted  mother. 
What  if  his  real  mother  should  by  and  by  crave  after  the 
treasure  she  had  thrown  away,  and  institute  a  search  for 
him  ?  Suppose  she,  or  her  emissaries,  should  find  him, 
lie  in  wait  for  him,  perhaps  steal  him — one  or  two 
stories  of  kidnapped  children  were  in  the  newspapers 
just  then,  of  which  she  read  every  line  with  a  thrill  of 
sympathetic  anguish. 

And  once,  when  Manette  and  Arthur  were  missing 
for  three  hours,  having  contrived  to  lose  themselves  in  a 
primrose  wood,  they  came  back,  hungry  and  happy, 
laden  with  primroses,  to  find  Mrs.  T  re  vena  white  as 
death,  sitting  on  a  gravestone  in  the  churchyard,  having 
walked  miles  and  miles  in  every  direction  in  search  of 
her  child.  She  clasped  him  to  her  heart  in  such  a 


NOT  A   LOVE    STORY.  89 

passion  of  love  and  tears  that  Mr.  Trevena,  who  came  out 
for  his  evening  stroll  just  in  time  to  see  the  happy  de- 
nouement of  this  temporary  tragedy,  was  quite  per- 
plexed. 

"  My  dear,  it  all  comes  from  your  vivid  imagination. 
Don't  sup  sorrow  with  a  long  spoon.  He  is  a  dear 
child,  I  own  that,"  and  the  rector  patted  kindly  the 
curly  head  which  nestled  on  his  wife's  shoulder.  "  But 
I  don't  think  anybody  is  likely  to  steal  him.  Babies  are 
as  plentiful  as  blackberries,  and  you  must  remember, 
Susannah,  that  everybody  does  not  consider  him  as  valu- 
able as  you  do." 

She  laughed,  confessing  she  had  been  "very  silly." 
But  for  weeks  she  scarcely  let  Arthur  out  of  her  sight ; 
and  Manette  had  strict  orders  never  to  go  beyond  the 
garden,  the  village,  and  the  path  leading  to  the  great 
house,  and  on  no  account  to  answer  any  one  she  met 
who  might  question  her  about  the  boy. 

This  was  literally  the  only  event  of  the  first  six  years 
of  Arthur's  life — the  six  happy  infantine  years,  all 
pleasantness  and  play,  with  no  lessons  to  learn,  for  he 
was  not  a  precocious  child,  and  his  mother  preferred 
physical  to  mental  development.  His  education  had 
begun  indeed,  as  it  can  begin  with  every  child,  and 
should,  even  at  six  months  old ;  but  it  was  the  uncon- 
scious education,  imbibed  daily  and  hourly  from  every- 
thing around  him. 

By  and  by,  life  became  to  little  Arthur  a  perpetual 
question,  which  he  always  expected  his  mother  to 
answer.  She  did  answer,  taking  unwearied  trouble  to 
satisfy  the  opening  mind  and  heart,  never  throwing  the 


90  KING   ARTHUR. 

child  back  upon  himself,  or  stifling  his  natural  curiosity 
about  the  wonderful  world  he  had  come  to.  But  some- 
times she  found  herself  fairly  puzzled  and  obliged  to 
own,  frankly  and  humbly,  "  I  don't  know,"  upon  which 
he  once  turned  upon  her  with  the  grave  answer,  "  But, 
mammy,  you  ought  to  know."  A  rebuke  that  made  her 
study  the  question — something  about  a  steam-engine — 
and  tell  him  all  about  it  next  day. 

Dr.  Franklin's  saying,  when  they  were  discussing  the 
future  of  her  baby,  "I  don't  know  whether  you  will 
educate  him,  but  I  am  quite  certain  he  will  educate 
you,"  came  back  upon  her  often  as  an  amusing  truth. 
She  knew  herself  to  be  a  better  woman,  and  certainly 
her  husband  was  no  worse  man,  nor  a  less  happy  man, 
for  having  that  bit  of  continual  sunshine,  "  a  child  in 
the  house." 

"  I  wish  Dr.  Franklin  could  see  us,"  she  often  thought 
and  said.  But  the  worthy  Kentuckian  seemed  to  have 
melted  away  into  thin  air.  For  two  or  three  years  they 
got  a  letter  from  him,  generally  about  the  time  of  his 
godson's  birthday,  hoping  the  little  fellow  was  quite 
well,  and  doing  credit  to  his  adopted  family;  but  the 
letters  were  brief  and  formal ;  the  doctor  was  a  practical 
man  and  no  great  scribe.  It  scarcely  surprised  the 
Trevenas  when,  after  a  while,  his  letters  ceased,  and 
theirs  gained  no  answer. 

"  Perhaps  he  is  dead,"  Susannah  thought,  sadly,  "  and 
my  boy  has  one  friend  less  in  the  world." 

Arthur  had  no  lack  of  friends  now,  at  any  rate.  He 
was  a  most  popular  little  person.  Everybody  "  spoiled  " 
him ;  except  that  love  never  spoils.  It  is  the  alternation 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  91 

of  harshness  and  weak  indulgence  which  ruins  many  a 
poor,  helpless  child,  who  is  made  detestable  to  every- 
body, not  through  its  own  fault,  but  the  fault  of  its  re- 
lations. 

"With  "King"  Arthur  it  was  not  so.  His  mother's 
tender  hand  knew  how  to  hold  the  reins  firmly.  Her 
yea  was  yea — her  nay,  nay ;  and  the  child  soon  found  it 
out.  His  will — and  he  had  a  pretty  strong  one,  poor 
little  man ! — was  early  taught  that  it  must  be  used,  not 
to  govern  others,  but  himself.  Consequently,  though 
impetuous,  passionate,  and  full  of  boyish  mischief  and 
fun,  he  was  neither  a  naughty  nor  a  disagreeable  child. 
From  the  "big"  house,  with  its  constantly  changing 
tenants,  down  to  every  cottage  in  the  parish,  everybody 
made  a  pet  of  "  King  "  Arthur. 

So  did  his  "  papa,"  when  the  boy  grew  old  enough  to 
be  interesting.  Perhaps,  under  no  circumstances  would 
Mr.  Trevena  have  been  a  model  father ;  he  was  too  self- 
absorbed,  too  much  of  the  student,  and  it  was  by  a 
curious  natural  instinct  that  Arthur  always  called  him 
"papa,"  and  Mrs.  Trevena  "mother."  But  he  was  very 
fond  of  the  little  fellow,  who  always  amused  and  never 
troubled  him,  as  ordinary  papas  are  troubled  by  their 
offspring.  And  his  kindness,  his  invariable  sweet  tem- 
per, and  even  his  little  oddities,  attached  the  child  to 
him  almost  as  much  as  if  he  had  been  really  his  own. 
For  to  the  young  the  "  tie  of  blood  "  means  nothing ; 
and  kindness,  tenderness,  the  habit  of  propinquity,  every- 
thing. A  child  often  loves  its  nurse  far  better  than  its 
mother — an  unheeding,  unloving  mother;  and  many 
parents  and  children,  separated  of  necessity  for  years, 


92  KING   ARTHUR 

have  felt  bitterly  that  with  all  their  efforts  it  was  abso- 
lutely impossible  to  reunite  the  broken  bond. 

But  Arthur  and  his  adopted  parents  lived  so  happily 
together,  that  everybody  outside  seemed  to  have  forgot- 
ten he  was  not  their  own ;  and  indeed  they  almost  for- 
got it  themselves,  till  something  happened  which  startled 
Susannah  into  uneasy  previsions.  Long  after  it  wras 
past,  she,  like  another  holy  mother,  "pondered  these 
things  in  her  heart,"  and  thanked  God  she  had  had 
strength  to  meet  the  difficulty ;  to  face  the  first  of  many 
inevitable  ills,  and  to  face  it  in  time. 

Arthur  came  in  to  her,  one  day,  with  his  poor  little 
nose  bleeding,  and  his  whole  frame  quivering  with  pas- 
sion and  excitement.  He  had  been  playing  in  the  garden 
with  the  gardener's  boy,  not  a  bad  boy  in  his  way ;  and 
at  six  years  old  Mrs.  Trevena  held  class  distinctions  un- 
necessary ;  but  there  had  evidently  been  some  fracas 
between  the  children. 

"  My  boy — how  could  Bob  let  you  hurt  yourself  ?  He 
was  the  eldest ;  he  ought  to  have  taken  care  of  you." 

"  He  shall  never  take  care  of  me  again.  I  hate  Bob ! 
And  I  didn't  hurt  myself.  "We  were  fighting.  But  I've 
hurt  him  twice  as  much  as  he  hurt  me." 

And  the  little  fists  were  clenched,  and  the  chest 
heaved  with  rage.  The  "  devil "  was  roused  in  the  here- 
tofore "  angel-boy," — as  from  his  sweet  looks  some  of 
the  villagers  called  him. 

"You  fought?  Who  began  it?"  said  the  mother 
gravely. 

"  I  did.  Bob  told  a  lie,  and  I  hit  him.  I'll  hit  him 
again  to-morrow." 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  93 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  but  wisely  abstained 
from  any  moral  lectures  till  she  had  soothed  her  boy's 
physical  sufferings ;  and  he  lay  in  her  arms,  pale  and 
exhausted,  angry  but  quiet,  and  quite  "  good,"  with  that 
air  of  entire  content  which  a  child  of  his  age  finds 
nowhere  if  not  on  the  mother's  bosom. 

"  Now,  my  darling,"  she  whispered,  "  tell  me  all  about 
it." 

But  Arthur  turned  his  head  away,  with  the  deep  blush 
of  sensitive  childhood. 

"  I'd  rather  not  tell  you,  please,  mammy." 

She  would  not  compel  him — it  is  right  to  respect  even 
a  babyish  secret ;  but  she  urged  tenderly,  "  Don't  you 
think  you  would  be  happier  if  you  told  me  ? "  And  then 
it  all  came  out. 

"  Bob  said  what  was  not  true.  He  told  me  my  papa 
was  not  my  papa,  and  that  my  mammy,  my  own 
mammy,  was  not  my  mother."  And  hiding  his  face  on 
her  shoulder,  Arthur  once  more  burst  into  a  passion  of 
sobs. 

Susannah  felt  as  if  an  arrow  had  gone  through  her 
heart.  Often  and  often  had  she  considered  this  question, 
and  decided  that  as  soon  as  ever  he  could  take  it  in, 
Arthur  must  be  told  the  whole  truth  concerning  himself. 
But  the  difficulty — the  almost  impossibility — of  making 
so  young  a  child  comprehend  any  difference  between 
adopted  and  real  parenthood  had  caused  her  to  defer  this 
explanation  from  time  to  time,  till  some  opportune 
moment  should  come.  It  had  come.  There  was  a  brief 
pause  of  cowardly  shrinking,  and  then  she  braced  her- 
self and  seized  the  chance,  which  to  let  go  by  might  be 


94  KING  ARTHUK. 

fatal.  Perfect  truthfulness,  she  had  all  along  felt,  would 
be  the  only  safe  as  well  as  the  only  right  course — for  her 
darling's  sake. 

"  My  boy,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sorry  you  fought — 
because  what  Bob  said  was  true." 

Arthur  opened  wide  eyes  of  incredulous  terror.  "  No 
— no !  Mammy,  I  am  your  child — I  am  your  child." 

"  Yes,  my  darling — my  only  darling !  but  not  my  born 
child — you  are  my  adopted  child." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  My  cnosen  child.  Nobody  cared  for  you.  or  loved 
you — but  mammy  loved  you,  mammy  chose  you.  Listen, 
and  I'll  tell  my  boy  a  little  story." 

It  was  the  "  quite  true  "  story  of  her  finding  the  bit 
of  sweetwilliam,  and  how  she  planted  it,  and  watered  it, 
and  watched  it  grow  into  a  beautiful  root,  till  she  loved 
it  better  than  any  root  in  her  garden. 

"  As  mammy  loves  me,"  said  the  boy,  brightening  up 
and  taking  it  all  in,  as  he  did  any  story,  with  delighted 
eagerness.  "  And  mammy  chose  it — as  she  did  me. 
Then  I  am  mammy's  own  child  after  all." 

"  Always — always ! "  and  she  strained  him  to  her 
heart — the  unmistakable  mother's  heart,  where  he  rested, 
satisfied.  Childless  mother— motherless  child  !  Surely 
He  who  said  to  John,  "  Son,  behold  thy  mother,"  and 
to  Mary,  u  Mother,  behold  thy  Son,"  often  gives  a  spe- 
cial consecration  to  such  relationships.  It  might  be  bet- 
ter for  many  a  lonely  household,  many  a  forlorn  child,  if 
there  were  more  of  the  like. 

Determined  not  to  let  the  golden  moment  pass  by,  but 
to  seize  this  chance  of  making  things  clear,  so  that  her 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  95 

boy  might  know  all  painful  facts  while  so  young  that  he 
should  never  remember  the  time  when  he  had  not  known 
them,  Susannah  went  on  to  explain  how  she  and  "papa" 
had  found  him  among  the  mountains,  brought  him  home 
to  the  rectory,  and  made  him  their  son,  as  he  would 
always  be ;  that  he  must  grow  up  a  man — a  good  man, 
like  papa — and  take  care  of  them  both  in  their  old  age. 

"  And  if  Bob,  or  any  one,  ever  tells  you  mammy  does 
not  love  you  as  some  mothers  love  their  sons,  say,  she 
loves  you  more — because  she  chose  you." 

"  As  I  chose  my  black  kitten  when  the  boys  wTere 
going  to  drown  it  ?  " 

"Yes!  And  wrould  you  like  to  hear  why  mammy 
called  you  Arthur  ? "  continued  she,  wishing  to  drive  out 
all  pain  from  the  infant  mind,  and  perhaps  impress  it  for 
life.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  another  story  ?  " 

Mother's  "'tories"  were  the  unfailing  panacea  for 
every  earthly  ill.  It  is  astonishing  how  much  you  can 
make  a  child  understand  if  you  only  put  it  in  words 
simple  enough.  Arthur  already  knew  all  about  the 
wooden  horse  of  Troy,  Romulus  and  Remus,  Queen 
Berengaria,  and  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion,  and  even  the 
story  of  several  plays  of  Shakspere.  Now,  he  listened 
with  wide  eyes  fixed  on  that  placid  heaven,  the  mother's 
face ;  and  sucking  his  two  middle  fingers — a  trick  he  had 
when  supremely  happy — listened  to  the  story  of  King 
Arthur ;  the  "  little  naked  child  "  who  was  found  on  the 
sea-coast  of  Cornwall,  and  brought  up  by  Merlin.  ("  "Was 
Merlin  like  my  papa?"  interjected  Arthur) — how  the 
baby  grew  to  be  a  noble  knight,  a  valiant  soldier,  and  at 
last  a  king. 


96  KING  AETHUB. 

"  Shall  I  ever  be  a  king,  mammy?"  asked  the  small 
listener,  with  a  look  so  radiant  that  his  weak-minded 
mother  thought  he  really  might  have  been  !  Neverthe- 
less she  answered  gravely : 

"No,  my  boy,  I  am  quite  sure  you  never  will  be  a 
king — except  mammy's  King  Arthur.  And  something 
else  too — a  good,  brave  man.  Brave  men  are  never 
ashamed  to  own  they  are  wrong:  so  we'll  come  and 
speak  to  Bob  before  he  goes  home,  and  say  we  both  are 
sorry  you  fought  with  him,  because  you  know  now  that 
he  did  not  tell  a  lie.  Come." 

Arthur  came.  He  did  not  speak  to  Bob,  but  his 
mother  spoke  for  him,  explaining  that  "  my  son " — as 
she  carefully  called  him — -now  knew  all  about  himself; 
that  there  must  be  no  more  references  to  the  subject,  and 
no  more  fighting.  He  was  Master  Arthur  Trevena,  and 
she  should  dismiss  any  servant  who  did  not  treat  him 
as  such. 

Susannah  said  all  this  calmly — but  a  sharp  inward 
pain  was  gnawing  at  her  heart  all  the  while,  until  she 
overheard  Arthur's  Parthian  thrust  at  his  discomfited  foe. 

"  I  won't  fight  you  again,  Bob — and  I'll  play  with  you 
to-morrow.  I'm  a  deal  better  off  than  you — for  your 
mother  had  to  take  you  whether  she  liked  you  or  not — 
my  mother  chose  me !  " 

So  off  he  marched — the  little  "King" — with  a  proud 
and  gallant  air;  holding  by  his  mother's  hand,  and  en- 
tirely contented  with  his  lot. 

She  was  contented  too;  for  now  there  was  no  more 
mystery — her  boy  would  never  have  the  pang  of  finding 
out  suddenly  that  he  was  not  her  boy.  Though  with  the 


NOT  A    LOVE    STORY.  97 

sensitive  reticence  of  childhood,  he  never  referred  to  the 
matter  again,  never  asked  her  a  single  question;  but 
accepted  with  unlimited  trust  the  love  in  which  he  lived 
as  in  perpetual  sunshine.  Only,  night  after  night,  as  his 
mother  sat  down  beside  him,  to  tell  him  "just  one  little 
'tory  "  before  he  went  to  sleep — the  story  he  liked  best, 
and  asked  for  oftenest,  was  that  of  King  Arthur. 

So  life  went  on  at  the  rectory — a  smooth,  untroubled 
stream — 

"The  constant  stream  of  love  which  knew  no  fall, 
Ne'er  roughened  by  those  cataracts  and  breaks 
Which  humor  interposed  too  often  makes." 

Years  afterwards,  when  reading  that  exquisite  poem, 
Arthur  recognized — as  we  do  recognize  when  things  are 
past — the  picture  of  his  happy  childhood,  and  in  Cow 
per's  mother  the  portrait  of  his  own. 

Years  slipped  by — almost  like  a  dream.  From  the 
baby  he  grew  into  the  child  —  the  boy  —  a  big  boy, 
though  not  yet  a  schoolboy — for  there  was  no  day-school 
near.  Mrs.  Trevena,  who  for  many  years  had  been  a 
governess,  taught  him  all  she  knew.  By  and  by,  Mr. 
Trevena,  inquiring  anxiously  about  his  Latin  and  Greek 
— to  the  rector  the  one  necessity  of  human  learning — 
volunteered  to  continue  both.  So  Arthur,  who  was 
neither  a  genius  nor  a  dunce,  but  something  between  the 
two — a  boy  with  plenty  of  brains,  if  he  would  only  use 
them — gradually  approached  the  time  when  life  ceases  to 
be  all  play,  and  it  begins  to  dawn  upon  even  the  idlest 
boy,  or  the  one  most  keen  after  physical  enjoyments,  that 

there  is  such  a  thing  as  work. 
o 


98  KING   ARTHUR. 

It  did  upon  Arthur,  though  only  occasionally.  He 
was  by  no  means  a  model  boy.  He  honestly  owned  he 
"hated"  his  lessons,  and  only  did  them  "to  please 
mother,"  which  secondary  reason  she  perforce  accepted, 
and  made  use  of  to  his  good.  Doubtless  she  would  have 
preferred  a  studious  boy  to  an  idle  one ;  but  then  he  was 
such  a  good  boy,  neither  a  prig  nor  a  hypocrite;  and 
sometimes  when  she  saw  his  strong  temptations — the 
exuberant  youthful  health  and  the  joy  in  it — that  pure 
joy  of  living  which  she  herself  had  never  known — she 
forgave  him  everything. 

Perhaps  both  his  adopted  parents  loved  him  all  the 
better  for  being  so  unlike  themselves — for  bringing  into 
their  quiet  household  new  elements  which  otherwise 
would  have  been  unknown  there ;  young  companions, 
games,  athletic  sports.  The  Reverend  Austin  had  never 
played  cricket  in  his  life ;  yet  after  going  to  see  Arthur 
play,  he  was  allured  into  lending  one  of  his  glebe-fields 
to  the  village  cricket  club ;  and  would  watch  them  with 
mild  approval  many  a  summer  evening.  And  many  a 
winter  morning  did  Mrs.  Trevena  spend  beside  the  large 
pond  at  Tawton  Abbas — just  to  see  Arthur  skate. 
Though  she  felt  sometimes  like  an  old  hen  with  one 
duckling — scarcely  able  to  hide  her  terror  at  every  tum- 
ble and  every  crack  on  the  ice — still  she  did  hide  it,  and 
gloried  in  her  boy's  height,  agility,  and  grace.  Above 
all  in  his  perfect  fearlessness,  physical  and  moral. 

Spite  of  his  little  faults — and  he  had  his  share — 
Arthur  possessed  one  quality,  the  root  of  all  good  in 
either  man  or  woman — he  was  not  a  coward.  From 
infancy,  the  only  fear  he  knew  was  the  grave  rebuke  of 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  99 

his  mother's  face;  generally  a  silent  rebuke,  for  she 
rarely  scolded  and  never  whipped  him ;  but  her  mute  dis- 
pleasure was  more  than  he  could  stand.  It  brought  him 
to  his  right  mind  at  once — to  the  sobbing  "  I'll  be  good, 
mammy  !  "  of  infancy — to  the  half  proud,  half  humble 
"  I'm  so  sorry,  mother,"  of  boyhood.  The  turning  away 
of  her  face  from  him  was  like  the  sun  going  out  of  the 
sky — he  could  not  bear  it.  And  once  when  he  had  to 
bear  it,  for  two  whole  days — for  his  unconquerable  idle- 
ness had  so  vexed  her  that  she  put  the  books  away,  and 
refused  to  open  them  again,  his  agony  of  distress  made 
him  actually  ill.  It  was  the  turning-point ;  that  contest 
between  parent  and  child,  which  if  the  latter  is  allowed 
to  win,  is  a  defeat — to  both — for  life. 

Susannah  was  a  very  gentle  woman ;  but  she  could  be 
stern,  if  need  be,  stern  and  hard  as  stone.  When,  after 
two,  nay,  three  days  of  being  sent  to  Coventry,  and  a 
fourth  day,  when  he  literally  cried  himself  sick,  Arthur 
came  humbly,  his  books  under  his  arm,  and  implored 
her  to  forgive  him,  she  replied  sadly  : 

"  Forgiving  is  not  forgetting.  You  have  made  moth- 
er's heart  ache  as  it  never  ached  before.  Listen,  my  boy 
— for  you  are  a  boy  now,  not  a  baby."  And  she  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder  and  looked  searchingly  into  his 
face,  as  if  longing  to  find  there,  what  people  cannot 
always  find  in  their  very  own  children,  the  qualities 
they  themselves  most  value.  "  Arthur — for  these  twelve 
years  papa  and  I  have  done  our  very  best  for  you.  "We 
cannot  do  more.  The  rest  you  must  do  for  yourself." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  mammy  dear  ?     Are  you  going 
to  send  me  away — to  school  ? " 
G 


100  KING   ARTHUE. 

"  No — for  we  could  not  afford  it.  How  could  papa, 
with  his  small  income,  pay  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year  for 
your  schooling — and  you  to  be  as  idle  then  as  you  are 
now  ?  It  would  not  be  right.  I  would  not  let  him  do  it. 
No,  if  you  want  education  you  must  get  it  for  yourself — 
or  go  without  it  and  grow  up  a  dunce." 

"  And  then  you  will  wish  you  had  left  me  to  die  at 
the  roadside,  instead  of  planting  me  like  your  sweetwil- 
liam  root.  Perhaps  you  are  right,  mother." 

Susannah  started — she  thought  Arthur  had  long  for- 
gotten that  little  story;  but  one  never  knows  what  a 
child  forgets  or  remembers. 

There  was  a  pause  of  pain — and  then  she  said,  "  My 
son,  I  shall  never  wish  things  different  from  what  they 
have  been.  And  I  am  content  with  you  just  as  you  are, 
if  you  will  only  make  the  best  of  what  you  are.  Do  you 
think  King  Arthur  would  ever  have  been  a  soldier  and 
a  king,  if  he  had  not  learnt  his  lessons  ? " 

"Did  he  learn  lessons?  And — did  he  like  them?" 
asked  Arthur  dolefully — so  dolefully  that  Mrs.  Trevena 
could  not  help  laughing.  At  which  the  young  sinner 
ventured  to  laugh  too — kissed  and  hugged  her,  vehe- 
mently promising  amendment.  She  shook  her  head — he 
had  promised  so  often,  and  forgot  it  next  day.  How 
many  "grown-ups"  do  the  same  !  It  sometimes  struck 
Susannah  as  a  curious  fact  that  while  all  allowances  are 
made  for  grown-up  people,  none  are  made  for  children. 
Though  hard  as  the  nether  millstone  in  keeping  Arthur 
in  the  right  way — never  for  a  moment  pretending  that 
wrong  was  right — she  had  great  pity  for  his  little  aber- 
rations ;  his  laziness,  his  feather-headedness,  and  the  like. 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  101 

And  when  she  looked  at  his  broad  brow  and  thoughtful 
eyes — inherited,  heaven  only  knew  from  whom ! — she  took 
heart  of  grace  that  heaven  would  make  all  right  in  time. 

One  never  knows  when  an  arrow  strikes  home.  "  In 
the  morning  sow  thy  seed — in  the  evening  withhold  not 
thy  hand,"  Such  had  been  Susannah's  principle  all  her 
days.  She  did  her  best ;  and  then  she  rested  in  hope — 
which  sometimes  died — most  often  died  ! — but  now  and 
then  it  lived  and  blossomed — as  now. 

One  day — after  a  week  of  most  astonishing  industry, 
Arthur  said  suddenly,  "  Mother,  you  told  me  I  was  to 
get  education  for  myself.  How  am  I  to  get  it  ? " 

She  was  not  taken  by  surprise ;  for  years  she  had  pon- 
dered over  the  question — as  she  did  everything  that  con- 
cerned her  boy's  future.  She  had  said  truly,  that  to 
send  Arthur  to  a  boarding-school  was  impossible.  Even 
if  possible,  it  would  scarcely  have  been  right.  Her  hus- 
band in  his  old  age  would  need  all  his  own  money ;  he 
must  not  be  stinted  in  anything  for  the  sake  of  a  son — 
who  was  not  his  son.  Passionately  as  she  loved  her  boy, 
Susannah  held  the  balance  of  justice  even.  So  she 
answered  firmly : 

"  Arthur,  if  you  are  to  grow  up  a  clever  man  like  papa 
you  must  do  as  he  did ; — you  must  get  to  be  a  Winches- 
ter boy — and  then  take  yourself  to  New  College,  Oxford, 
with  a  Winchester  scholarship.  Mother  would  so  like 
to  see  you  in  cap  and  gown  ! " 

"  Would  you  ? "  said  he,  with  the  sudden  look  which 
she  loved  to  see — the  bright,  eager,  purpose-like  look — 
"Then,  I'll  try." 

They  went  into  the  matter  at  once.     Mr.  Trevena, 


102  KING   AKTHUB. 

who  at  the  mention  of  Winchester  pricked  up  his  ears 
like  an  old  war  horse,  needed  little  persuasion  to  take  his 
wife  and  son  to  see  his  old  haunts  and  revive  his  old 
acquaintanceships.  One  of  the  masters  happened  to  be 
a  schoolfellow  of  fifty  years  back ;  they  fraternized  joy- 
fully, and  wandered  about  together — Mrs.  Trevena  and 
Arthur  following — through  the  chapel  and  courts,  the 
schoolrooms  and  playgrounds,  dear  to  all  Wykehamites, 
where  generation  after  generation  of  boys  have  worked 
and  played  and  passed  away.  Here  and  there  were 
mementoes  of  some  of  them  who  had  made  themselves 
famous  in  after-life,  and  of  others — Arthur's  eye  bright- 
ened, and  his  mother's  heart  trembled,  as  they  stood  look- 
ing at  them — who  had  died  early,  mostly  on  the  field  of 
battle,  only  a  year  or  two  after  being  Winchester  boys. 

Susannah  was  an  ambitious  woman — what  mother  of 
a  son  would  not  be  ?  When  Arthur  whispered  to  her, 
"  I  mean  to  be  a  Winchester  boy,"  she  pressed  his  arm 
in  silence  as  they  walked  together — he  very  proud  of 
being  fully  as  tall  as  she.  They  understood  one  another, 
and  were  happy. 

This  was  the  bright  side  of  things;  but  there  was 
another  side,  of  which  she  had  had  prevision,  but  never 
so  clearly  as  to-day. 

The  master  stood  explaining  to  her  various  things — 
while  Mr.  Trevena  went  to  show  Arthur  the  picture  of 
the  Faithful  Servant.  She  learnt  that  a  certificate  of 
baptism  must  be  sent  in,  to  prove  the  boy's  age — over 
twelve  and  under  thirteen — and  that  the  examination, 
in  which  there  were  often  nearly  a  hundred  candidates 
for  fourteen  scholarships,  was  about  the  middle  of  July. 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  103 

6  My  son  will  be  thirteen  next  June,"  said  Susannah 
— who  always  took  care  to  say  "my  son"  to  strangers. 

"  Then  he  has  only  one  chance.  He  will  have  to  work 
hard  for  it — but  no  doubt  he  will.  He  is  " — glancing 
carelessly  at  Arthur,  who  stood  a  few  yards  off,  and 
making  the  superficial  remark  that  so  many  think  proper 
— "  he  is  so  very  like  his  father." 

Whether  the  boy  overheard,  she  could  not  tell — if  he 
had,  no  doubt  he  would,  in  his  simplicity,  only  have 
thought  it  "  funny  "  that  he  should  resemble  his  gray, 
stooping,  elderly  papa ;  but  Susannah  felt  herself  grow 
hot  all  over.  She  could  not  answer — any  explanation 
at  that  moment  was  impossible — yet  she  felt  like  a  de- 
ceiver— acting  inevitably,  righteously,  but  yet  a  deceiver. 
And  how  would  her  boy  feel  ?  not  now  perhaps — he  was 
too  young  to  take  it  in — but  by  and  by  ? 

"  I  ought  to  explain ,"  she  began,  with  a  desperate 

firmness.  At  that  moment  Mr.  Trevena  and  Arthur 
came  up,  rendering  explanation  impossible.  The  train 
was  nearly  due  :  they  were  late — as  the  good  rector  had 
a  trick  of  being — only  a  minute  remained  for  polite 
adieux,  and  they  hurried  away. 

But  as  Susannah  sat  silent,  watching  the  landscape 
whirl  past,  in  that  noisy  peace  which  allows  such  time 
for  thinking — a  new  anxiety  awoke  in  her  heart. 

She  had  resolved  to  send  her  boy  to  school,  for  she 
felt  he  must  go ;  his  nature  required  the  spur  of  emula- 
tion to  learn  well ;  but  she  had  not  taken  in  all  that  this 
involved.  Her  neighbors,  the  simple  folk  of  Taw  ton 
Magna,  had  long  since  accepted  the  truth,  and  then  for- 
got— as  the  Trevenas  had  almost  forgotten  themselves — 


104  KING    ARTHUR. 

that  Arthur  was  not  their  own  child.  Not  a  word  to  the 
contrary  was  now  ever  said  to  him  or  them.  But  in  the 
wider  world  to  which  Arthur  was  going,  and  must  go, 
things  were  sure  to  be  said — cruel  things,  perhaps — from 
which  his  mother  could  no  longer  protect  him. 

Had  he  been  a  girl,  it  would  have  been  different. 
She  could  then  have  kept  her  child  beside  her ;  no  need 
to  go  to  school  at  all ;  or  to  pass  from  the  shelter  of  the 
mother's  wing,  except  into  some  honorable  happy  home, 
where  she  was  loved  for  herself — married  for  herself. 
Many  a  King  Cophetua  lives  to  bless  the  day  he  wooed 
his  "beggar-maid,"  and  especially,  if  she  has  no  blood 
relations !  But  a  boy  must  face  the  world — stand  on  his 
own  feet — fight  his  own  battles.  "What  if  Arthur's 
school-fellows  came  to  find  out  his  history?  how  they 
might  torment  him  ! — there  is  nothing  crueller  than  your 
ordinary  schoolboy.  How  lads  with  real  fathers  and 
mothers  might  jeer  at  "  Nobody's  child  "  ! 

Susannah  clenched  her  hands  under  her  shawl.  She 
felt  she  should  like  to  do  something — to  hurt  somebody, 
who  dared  to  hurt  her  child.  The  "  wild  animal "  feel- 
ing, which  makes  the  tamest  creatures  dangerous  when 
their  young  are  attacked,  came  into  her,  till  she  almost 
laughed  at  herself,  and  then  could  have  cried  at  her  own 
helplessness.  Yet  tears  were  idle.  The  thing  was  in- 
evitable— he  must  bear  it.  How  could  she  help  him  to 
bear  it  ? 

"  Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil "  was,  as  ever, 
the  only  chance  for  her  boy ;  and  after  all,  he  was  a  boy 
— "with  hands  to  war  and  fingers  to  fight" — as  old 
King  David  had,  and  blessed  the  Lord  for.  Alas !  in 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  105 

this  our  world  they  are  only  too  necessary  !  Arthur  had 
moral  courage  too,  as  had  been  lately  proved  when  a 
neighboring  curate,  hearing  the  boy's  voice  in  church, 
offered  to  teach  him  singing,  and  music  too ;  and,  in 
spite  of  his  companions,  the  young  millionaires  at  Taw- 
ton  Abbas,  calling  it  "girlish,"  he  persisted  in  steadily 
strumming  on  the  rectory  piano,  and  never  missing  an 
hour  of  the  village  choir  practice.  Music,  in  fact,  was 
the  only  thing  he  really  worked  at,  with  all  his  heart  in 
it.  Once  his  mother — listening  to  the  lovely  boy-voice, 
and  hearing  from  the  ritualistic  curate,  Mr.  Hardy,  what 
a  remarkable  talent  he  had  in  that  direction — recalled, 
almost  with  a  pang,  the  story  of  that  opera-singer  who 
had  run  away  from  Milan — who  might  have  crossed  the 
St.  Gothard,  and  stopped  at  Andermatt — who  might 

have  been But  speculations  were  idle — worse  than 

idle — dangerous.  She  shut  up  all  these  things  in  her 
heart,  seeing  that,  however  it  came,  her  boy's  talent  for 
music  was  there,  and  irrepressible.  Nor  did  she  try  to 
repress  it;  she  only  insisted  that  he  should  work,  not 
idle  at  it :  and  do  his  other  work  steadily,  meantime. 

He  did.  Mr.  Hardy,  the  musical  curate,  who,  like 
many  more,  combined  music  and  mathematics,  offered 
to  help  him  in  his  Euclid  and  algebra ;  the  rector  taught 
him  Latin  and  Greek;  his  mother,  and  the  faithful 
Manette,  now  promoted  from  nurse  to  cook,  and  likely 
to  be  a  fixture  at  the  rectory,  helped  him  in  his  French. 
So  all  was  in  train  for  the  Winchester  examination,  to 
which  he  must  go  up,  in  July — a  big  boy  of  thirteen — 
for  those  three  anxious  days  which  would  probably  de- 
cide his  lot  for  life. 
5* 


106  KING   ARTHUR. 

As  the  time  approached,  Mrs.  Trevena,  spite  of  her 
smooth  brow  and  quiet  smile,  would  thankfully  "  have 
given  worlds " — as  the  phrase  is — not  to  put  it  off— it 
was  her  way  always  to  face  things — but  to  know  that  it 
was  safe  over. 

Another  thing  which  she  had  to  face  she  did  put  off, 
unintentionally,  till  the  very  last  day.  Then  having 
settled  everything,  and  even  packed  her  boy's  box  and 
her  own — they  were  to  stay  together  with  Mr.  Trevena's 
old  school-fellow  during  the  three  days  of  examination — 
she  and  Arthur  walked  up  and  down  together  along 
their  favorite  walk,  the  peach-tree  walk,  under  a  high 
south  wall.  Susannah  was  now  growing  old  enough  to 
love  the  shelter  of  a  south  wall  and  the  smooth  ease  of  a 
gravel  walk.  But  age  had  no  terrors,  for  was  not  her 
boy's  strong  arm  round  her  waist,  and  his  bright  face 
beside  her  ?  In  his  young  life  she  lived  anew,  perhaps 
even  a  happier  life  than  her  own. 

"  If  you  are  tired,  mammy,  let  us  sit  down."  Arthur 
always  saw  when  his  mother  was  tired,  quicker  even 
than  her  husband  did ;  but  then  he  was  such  a  practical 
boy,  and  not  a  bit  of  a  bookworm.  "  You  stop  here  in 
the  summer-house,  and  I'll  help  Bob  Bates  to  gather  the 
peas  for  dinner." 

"No,  not  yet,"  for  she  had  something  to  say  which 
must  be  said  before  he  went  to  Winchester,  only  it  was 
difficult  to  begin.  "  Bob  is  a  big  boy  now,  almost  as  tall 
as  his  father." 

"  Bob  is  ever  so  much  older  than  I  am/'  said  Arthur,  a 
little  aggrieved.  "  I'll  be  as  tall  as  my  papa  some  day." 

"  I  hope  so,  dear."     Then,  suddenly  facing  the  evil, 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  107 

though  it  made  her  heart  beat  almost  with  the  pulsations 
of  her  youth,  "  Does  Bob  Bates  ever  speak  to  you  now 
about  what  you  fought  over,  years  ago  3 " 

"  What  was  that,  mammy  ?  I  forget. — No,"  with  a 
quick  blush,  the  sensitive  blush  so  ready  to  come  and  go 
on  his  fair  face.  "No,  I  think  I  remember.  It  was 
about  my  not  being  papa's  own  boy,  and  yours.  No,  no- 
body ever  says  a  word  to  me  now." 

"  That  is  well." 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  she  thinking  how  best  to 
put  the  next  thing  she  had  to  say,  when  he  saved  her 
the  saying  of  it. 

"  Mother,  if  anybody  speaks  to  me  like  that  at  Win- 
chester, what  am  I  to  do  ?  Shall  I  fight  them  ?  " 

She  paused  a  minute.     It  was  so  hard,  so  hard ! 

"No,  my  dear.  I  see  no  good  in  fighting.  Nobody 
means  you  any  harm,  and  nothing  they  say  can  alter 
anything.  It  is  the  truth.  No  brave  man  need  be  afraid 
of  the  truth.  I  am  sure  King  Arthur  never  was." 

"  Did  anybody  ever  say  to  him — what  Bob  Bates  used 
to  say  to  me  ? " 

"Very  likely,  for  his  parentage  was  never  known. 
But  he  was  such  a  noble  knight  in  himself  that  nobody 
ever  cared  to  ask  where  he  sprang  from.  It  will  be  the 
same  with  you,  if  you  grow  up  a  good  man." 

"  But  I  shall  never  be  a  king,  and  have  Knights  of  the 
Bound  Table." 

"  I  am  afraid  not.     What  would  you  like  to  be  ? " 

Now  the  great  event  in  the  boy's  life  was  his  having 
been  lately  taken  by  his  friend  the  High  Church  curate 
to  Exeter,  where  he  heard  an  oratorio  and  an  opera.  It 


108  KING  ARTHUR. 

should  not  have  been  a  pang,  and  yet  it  was — when  he 
answered  with  enthusiasm,  "  I  should  like  to  be  an  opera 
singer ! "  his  mother  started  as  if  she  had  been  shot. 

But  she  answered  calmly,  "  Well,  my  son,  boys  often 
make  resolves,  and  break  them.  I  knew  one  little  fellow 
who  was  determined  to  be  Lord  Chancellor,  but  he 
changed  his  mind  and  said  he  would  be  an  omnibus- 
driver.  However,  just  now,  you  can  only  be  one  thing 
— a  Winchester  boy.  Try  for  that." 

"  I  will,"  said  Arthur  firmly,  "  because  I  know  mother 
would  like  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  pressing  the  arm  that  was  round  her 
waist.  Youths  often  like  to  make  love  to  a  little  mother, 
no  bigger  than  themselves.  She  looked  at  him,  the  boy 
that  any  mother  might  be  proud  of — that  any  childless 
mother  might  have  craved  after  with  frantic  longing — 
and  that  his  own  mother  had  thrown  away.  No  matter ! 
he  was  her  son  now — hers,  Susannah's — by  every  right 
of  justice  and  duty,  if  not  nature ;  and  no  power  on 
earth  should  ever  snatch  him  from  her. 

She  was  not  sorry  to  have  to  take  him  to  Winchester 
herself,  and  make  friends  for  him  there,  whether  he  suc- 
ceeded or  failed;  she  had  begun  to  feel  that  their  shut-up 
life  would  never  do  for  a  growing  boy.  He  would  need 
companions ;  and  their  only  near  neighbors,  except  the 
villagers,  were  the  tenants  of  Tawton  Abbas ;  families 
continually  changing,  for  the  idiot  heir  of  the  Damerels 
still  lived  on,  and  it  was  said  that  when  he  died  there 
would  be  a  grand  fight  between  two  distant  cousins  for 
the  title  and  estate.  Meanwhile,  the  lovely  old  house 
was  sometimes  let,  sometimes  stood  empty,  and  the 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  109 

rectory  family  had  the  run  of  the  park  and  gardens. 
But  of  society  they  had  almost  none.  This  did  not 
matter  to  Austin  and  Susannah,  but  it  did  to  Arthur, 
who,  now  risen  above  the  level  of  Bob  Bates,  often 
wished  for  "  somebody  to  play  with — somebody  young." 
And  therefore,  though  parting  with  him  would  be  like 
cutting  off  her  right  hand,  his  mother  had  determined  to 
send  him  to  school. 

"  Mr.  Hardy  and  papa  both  say  you  can  pass  if  you 
try.  You  must  try.  Think  how  grand  it  would  be  to 
have  your  name  on  the  Roll." 

"  And  to  go  and  live  at  Winchester,  where  I  can  hear 
the  cathedral  service  every  day  if  I  like,  and  learn  to  sing 
in  the  college  chapel." 

"  You  could  learn  anything,  my  boy,  if  you  would 
only  give  your  mind  to  it — you  idle  monkey.  But  you 
will  work  now  ?  You'll  do  your  very  best,  and  if  you 
fail — well — we'll  try  something  else — 

'  But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking  place, 
And  we'll  not  fail ! ' " 

"  Bravo,  mother !  You  are  such  a  brick !  You  ought 
to  be  a  boy  yourself." 

They  laughed,  thoroughly  understanding  one  another. 
Then  not  sorry  for  a  brief  pause  of  solitude,  in  the  ner- 
vous strain  which  was  greater  than  she  knew,  she  sent 
Arthur  off  for  a  walk  across  the  park,  and  sat  down 
under  the  acacia  tree  on  the  rectory  lawn,  watching  idly 
the  swallows  flying  over  the  glebe-meadows,  where  the 
cows  were  feeding,  and  the  trees  stood  motionless  in  the 
summer  silence  of  the  newly-shorn,  fresh,  green  fields. 


110  KING   ARTHUK. 

A  peaceful,  lovely  picture!  grown  each  year  more 
familiar  and  more  dear.  Susannah  hoped  to  watch  it  year 
after  year  until  she  died.  For  she  felt  sure  her  husband 
would  never  leave  Tawton  Magna.  He  was  not  ambi- 
tious— had  no  desire  of  church  promotion.  He  too  was 
quite  content  with  his  life.  Her  eyes  followed  him, 
sauntering  up  and  down  the  peach-tree  walk,  writing  in 
his  head  his  next  Sunday's  sermon,  She  thought  of  all 
his  goodness,  gentleness,  and  tenderness,  not  only  to  her 
but  to  her  boy ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  no  woman  ever  had 
a  happier  life  than  she — a  life  to  which  no  change  could 
ever  come. 

At  that  minute — it  is  strange  how  often  these  coin- 
cidences happen — Arthur  came  running  to  her  with  a 
letter. 

"  A  boy  brought  it.  I  met  him  at  the  gate.  He  says 
he  has  to  wait  for  an  answer." 

"  Take  it  to  papa,"  she  was  just  saying  carelessly, 
when  something  struck  her  as  familiar  in  the  hand- 
writing— terribly  familiar.  Many  people  know  what  it 
is — the  heart-sinking  at  sight  of  one  particular  hand- 
writing, which  has  been  the  curse  of  the  family  for  a 
lifetime. 

"  Mother,  you  look  so  white !     What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  Nothing,  dear  boy.     I  will  take  papa  his  letter." 

It  was  from  Hal  Trevena.  He  was  in  a  small  public- 
house  of  the  neighboring  town,  with  his  wife  and  child, 
and  without  a  halfpenny. 

So  he  said,  at  least,  adding  that  the  inconvenience  was 
but  temporary,  as  they  were  on  their  way  to  "some 
wealthy  friends  of  Mrs.  Trevena's  residing  in  Wales." 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  Ill 

Only  the  said  Mrs.  Trevena  had  broken  down  on  the 
way,  and  lay  dangerously  ill,  which  was,  the  husband 
added,  "  most  inconvenient."  He  begged  for  "  a  small 
loan,"  and  that  his  brother  would  go  and  see  him. 

"Poor  Hal — poor  Hal — of  course  I  must  go,"  said 
the  rector,  with  a  deprecating,  distressed  look.  "  And 
you  would  not  object — to  my  giving  him  a  little 
money?" 

"  No,  of  course  not."  She  took  her  husband's  hand, 
and  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  him,  in  a  sort  of  dull 
submission  to  fate.  The  roses  were  blooming,  the  bees 
humming  in  them,  over  the  pretty  summer-house :  the 
swallows  were  darting  across  the  high  blue  sky,  and  the 
cows  feeding  in  the  meadow,  just  as  they  had  done  ten 
minutes  ago,  when  she  had  felt  so  happy,  so  thankful  to 
God  for  her  happiness.  And  now 

"  Poor  Hal,"  repeated  Austin  uneasily.  "  A  sick  wife> 
does  he  say  ?  and  he  never  was  used  to  illness,  any  more 
than  I.  But  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  to  them." 

Susannah  thought  a  minute,  then  she  said,  "  Shall  I 
go  instead  of  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  would !     My  dear,  how  kind  of  you ! " 

Mrs.  Trevena  never  answered.  She  knew  it  was  not 
kindness  at  all,  only  a  desperate  preventive  against 
danger  which  she  foresaw,  and  could  meet,  but  Austin 
could  not. 

"  So  very  kind,"  he  repeated.  "  But  you  forget — you 
were  to  take  the  boy  to  Winchester  to-morrow." 

"  Mr.  Hardy  would  take  him  instead  of  me.  And  he 
might  perhaps  be  as  well  alone.  He  must  learn  to  face 
the  world  some  time,"  she  added,  with  a  sad  kind  of 


112  KING  AKTHUB. 

smile.  "  At  any  rate,  I  will  go  now,  and  come  back  as 
soon  as  I  can." 

But  she  did  not  come  back.  It  was  only  a  half-hour's 
walk,  yet  Arthur  and  his  papa  sat  expecting  her  in  vain, 
hour  after  hour — till — almost  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life — the  boy  had  to  go  to  bed  without  his  mother's 
good-night  kiss.  Late,  almost  at  midnight,  a  messenger 
arrived,  bringing  two  letters ;  one  to  Arthur — the  first  he 
had  ever  received — explaining  that  he  must  go  to  Win- 
chester "  like  a  man  "  with  Mr.  Hardy,  and  do  his  very 
best,  so  that  whether  he  succeeded  or  failed  in  getting 
the  scholarship,  his  mother  might  be  proud  of  her  boy. 

To  her  husband  she  wrote  even  more  briefly.  "  Hal's 
wife  is  dying.  Her  little  girl — it  was  a  girl,  not  a  boy — 
is  her  only  nurse.  We  must  take  them  in.  Tell  Man- 
ette  to  get  ready  the  spare  room,  and  as  soon  as  Arthur 
and  Mr.  Hardy  are  gone,  send  a  fly  here.  There  is 
little  luggage — he  has  spent  everything  they  had  in  the 
world.  She  will  be  better  dead,  poor  soul ! — but  she 
ought  to  die  peacefully  in  our  house." 

This  was  all  Susannah  wrote — or  said. 

Next  day,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  her  husband 
wratched  her  superintend  the  carrying  up-stairs  of  what 
seemed  little  more  than  a  bundle  of  clothes,  with  a  white 
ghastly  face  appearing  out  of  it — that  dying  face  which, 
it  was  plain  to  see,  would  never  come  down-stairs  any 
more.  Closely  following  came  a  little  girl ;  a  small 
elfish  creature,  with  thin,  starved,  withered  features,  and 
great  dark  eyes — she  seemed  all  eyes — watching  the  sick 
mother  with  a  kind  of  fierce  jealousy,  as  if  to  protect 
her  from  everybody  else. 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  113 

The  husband  and  father  did  not  appear. 

"  He  will  be  here  at  supper- time — did  he  not  say  so, 
Nanny  I "  observed  Mrs.  Trevena,  taking  the  child's 
hand. 

"  He  said  so — but  we  never  believe  what  papa  says," 
was  the  answer — with  the  cruel  candor  of  ten  years  old. 

So,  there  they  were  under  her  roof — Hal  Trevena  and 
his  family.  And  her  own  boy's  room  was  empty ;  and 
throughout  the  house  was  that  terrible  silence  which 
marks  the  absence  of  a  child — a  noisy,  merry,  happy 
child. 

She  had  done  her  duty — the  duty  which  lay  to  her 
hand,  so  plain  that  she  could  not  choose  but  do  it ;  yet, 
as  she  laid  her  head  down  for  the  few  minutes  of  sleep 
that  she  was  able  to  snatch  on  the  sofa,  in  the  chamber 
of  the  dying  woman,  Susannah's  pillow  was  wet  with  her 
tears. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE  next  two  days  went  by  in  quiet — hopeless,  pas- 
sionless quiet.  Life  yet  lingered  in  Halbert  Trevena's 
wife;  but  they  all  knew — and  she  knew  too,  they 
thought — that  nothing  could  save  her.  She  was  in  the 
last  stage  of  consumption,  or  rather  atrophy ;  brought 
on,  no  doubt,  by  misery  and  privation.  By  making 
dives  and  guesses  at  truth  through  a  mass  of  superin- 
cumbent fiction,  Susannah  gained  from  her  brother-in- 
law  something  of  the  family  history. 

It  appeared  that  Nanny — christened  Anastasia — was 
their  only  child;  the  "son  and  heir,"  though  not  quite 
non-existent,  having  died  soon  after  his  birth.  The  mil- 
lionaire father-in-law  was  also  a  creation  of  Captain 
Trevena's  imagination ;  or,  at  any  rate,  whatever  money 
the  old  man  possessed  had  speedily  been  drained  from 
him  by  his  aristocratic  son-in-law.  During  his  lifetime 
he  had  protected  his  daughter  and  grandchild  as  well  as  he 
could  ;  when  he  died  both  fell  helplessly  into  the  hands 
of  that  personage,  to  whom,  unless  he  altogether  out- 
rages morality,  the  law  persists  in  giving  the  rights — 
though  he  fulfills  none  of  the  duties — of  "  husband  and 
father."  The  wife,  a  feeble  creature,  born  to  suffer  and 
complain,  had  clung  to  him,  probably  because  she  had 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  115 

nothing  else  to  cling  to ;  and  so  they  had  drifted  on, 
sinking  or  swimming,  heaven  knew  how,  or  how  long — 
it  was  useless  to  inquire— till  they  came  to  England  and 
to  Tawton  Magna. 

"Not  that  we  meant  to  inflict  ourselves  upon  you, 
except  for  a  short  visit,"  said  Captain  Trevena,  with 
great  dignity.  "  We  thought  of  wintering  at  Bath — we 
were  on  our  way  thither  when  my  dear  invalid  broke 
down.  But  I  hope  she  will  be  better  soon." 

"  She  will  be  better  soon,"  repeated  Susannah ;  but 
he  either  could  not  or  would  not  understand  her  mean- 
ing, and  it  was  no  use  to  press  the  fact ;  or  the  other 
one,  that  Tawton  was  not  on  the  road  to  Bath  at  all. 
But  fact  and  fiction  were  inextricably  mingled  in  Cap- 
tain Trevena's  conversation.  Susannah's  only  desire 
was  to  keep  him  out  of  his  wife's  sick-room — which  was 
not  difficult — he  so  hated  illness ;  and  let  her  slip  quietly 
into  that  peace  of  death  which  was  far  better  than  life. 

Poor  woman ! — what  sort  of  woman  she  was  or  had 
been,  mattered  little  now.  Her  sister-in-law  inquired 
nothing.  She  did  carefully  all  that  could  be  done  for 
"  the  remarkably  fine  woman  " — who  never  could  have 
been  anything  but  a  plain  and  rather  common-looking 
person ;  she  held  with  her  firm  soft  clasp  the  dying  hand 
— evidently  not  a  lady's  hand — and  so  thin  that  once  in 
washing  it,  the  wedding-ring  slipped  off". 

"  Don't  put  it  on  again — keep  it  for  Nanny,"  was  all 
the  sick  woman  said  ;  as  if  relieved  at  dying  without  that' 
badge  of  slavery. 

She  never  asked  for  her  husband,  but  only  for  Nanny. 
And  the  child,  who  had  none  of  the  looks  and  ways  of 
H 


116  KING   ARTHUR. 

childhood,  scarcely  ever  left  her  bedside.  Nanny  was 
small,  dark,  and  plain ;  exceedingly  like  her  mother ; 
"  not  a  bit  of  a  Trevena " — her  father  said,  apologetic- 
ally. He  evidently  did  not  care  for  her.  NOT,  can- 
didly speaking,  did  Susannah  herself  feel  much  drawn  to 
the  little  girl,  except  for  her  entire  devotion  to  her  poor 
mother. 

During  the  long  night-watches — for,  feeling  sure  the 
end  was  near,  she  had  never  taken  her  clothes  off  since 
that  sunny  hour  of  ignorant  peace  under  the  acacia  tree — 
the  other  mother  sat  and  thought ;  looking  anxiously  ahead 
— as,  possibly  because  Austin  never  did  it,  she  was  prone 
to  do :  weighing  well  the  case,  and  considering  every 
claim  of  duty,  and  of  that  much-belauded  quality,  self- 
sacrifice,  which  so  seldom  involves  the  sacrifice  of  only 
one's  self.  It  did  not  here.  To  take  Nanny  as  a  per- 
manent inmate — which  seemed  the  most  natural  and 
right  thing — would  alter  life  entirely  to  the  happy  little 
family  at  the  rectory.  True,  Arthur  might  go  to  school, 
and  Nanny  come  in  his  place ;  but  could  Susannah  love 
any  child  but  Arthur?  Certainly  not  Halbert  Trevena's 
child.  And  to  have  him,  the  father,  coming  and  going, 
tormenting  Austin,  perhaps  sowing  discord  between  him 
and  her — or  him  and  Arthur — it  would  be  more  than 
she  could  bear. 

"But  perhaps,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  may  not  have 
to  bear  it.  He  may  want  his  daughter  himself — or," 
she  was  almost  ashamed  of  the  thought — yet  it  was  true 
— "  the  house  which  held  his  daughter  would  be  the  last 
place  where  he  would  care  to  go  to." 

She  was  in  a  great  strait ;  dreading  continually  that 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  117 

the  dying  woman  should  speak,  and  perhaps  exact  some 
death-bed  promise  that  might  burden  her  whole  future- 
yet  what  could  she  do  ? 

On  the  forenoon  of  the  second  day,  seeing  no  change, 
she  snatched  half  an  hour  of  fresh  air  in  the  peach-tree 
walk — "  mother's  thinking-place,"  Arthur  called  it. 
There  had  been  a  letter  from  Arthur — telling  how  he 
had  not  as  yet  been  "  weeded  out,"  as  the  incompetent 
boys  were,  day  by  day — a  hopeful  sign  ;  but  the  tug  of 
war  was  yet  to  come. 

"  And  he  is  all  alone  by  himself — my  darling  boy  !  " 
she  thought,  with  the  natural  mother's  pang  and  mother's 
yearning ;  then  remembered  that  other  mother  who  was 
about  to  leave  her  child  "all  alone  by  itself " — nay — 
worse  than  alone — for  ever. 

The  soft  sleepy  summer  day  seemed  quite  dreadful  in 
its  calm.  And  she  could  speak  to  no  one — least  of  all 
to  her  husband,  who  looked  so  worried  and  weary,  who 
tried  to  smile,  while  his  brother  smoked  in  his  study  and 
drank  his  wine,  and  conversed  with  him  from  morning 
till  night ;  loud  talk — boasting  talk,  in  which  it  was  a 
severe  brain-exercise  to  distinguish  what  was  truth  and 
what  were — in  plain  English — lies. 

Doubtless  .he  was  at  it  now — for  she  could  smell  a 
cigar  in  the  summer-house ;  but  the  second  voice  there 
was  not  the  rector's — it  was  the  low  whimpering  of  a 
child. 

She  had  meant  to  avoid  the  spot ;  but  now  she  walked 
right  towards  it.  Susannah  had  one  great  weakness — 
she  never  could  hear  a  child  cry  without  going  to  see 
what  was  amiss. 


118  KING   AETHUK. 

There  stood  Captain  Trevena,  with  his  little  girl  be- 
fore him.  He  held  her  by  the  shoulders  and  was  shaking 
her  as  a  big  dog  shakes  a  hare.  And  not  unlike  a  hunted 
hare's  was  the  look  of  those  frightened  pathetic  eyes. 

"  I'll  teach  you  to  hide  things  from  your  father,"  he 
was  saying — in  a  voice  very  different  from  his  bland  con- 
versation-tone. "  Wait  till  your  mother  is  dead — and 
then Once  more — where  does  she  keep  that  dia- 
mond ring  ? " 

"  Mother  made  me  promise  not  to  tell  anybody — and 
I  won't  tell,"  sobbed  the  child. 

"  You  won't  ?    Then,  take  that— and  that— and  that." 

With  each  word  came  a  blow — what  the  advocates  of 
corporal  punishment  for  children  would  call  "just  a  box 
on  the  ear."  But  blows  they  were;  and  they  rang 
loudly  on  either  side  of  the  poor  little  head — the  head 
with  the  delicate  brain. 

Susannah  darted  forward — "  Brute ! "  she  muttered 
beneath  her  breath  :  and  snatched  Nanny  out  of  reach 
of  the  father's  hand — the  hand — nominally  that  of  a 
man  and  a  gentleman — lifted  against  a  child.  Taking 
the  little  girl  in  her  arms — though  ten  years  old  Nanny 
was  piteously  small  and  light — Mrs.  Trevena  faced  her 
brother-in-law  with  flashing  eyes. 

Brutes  are  almost  always  cowards.  Captain  Trevena's 
rage  evaporated  in  the  mildest  politeness. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  come  at  such  an  inop- 
portune moment.  A  little  wholesome  chastisement — 
all  parents  must  have  the  pain  of  administering  it  some- 
times. But  perhaps  your  boy  is  so  perfect  that  he  never 
requires  whipping  ? " 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  119 

"I  should  scorn  to  whip  him.  I  should  feel  that 
every  blow  I  gave  to  him  was  a  degradation  to  myself. 
And  for  your  child — touch  her  again  if  you  dare  ! " 

Then  the  superficial  gloss  melted  off,  and  the  "  brute  " 
nature — harsh  word,  but  true ! — re-asserted  itself. 

"  You  had  better  not  interfere  between  me  and  Nanny. 
I'll  do  as  I  like  with  my  own." 

'•'You  will  not,"  said  Susannah  resolutely.  "No 
man's  child  is  his  own  to  do  as  he  likes  with.  He  must 
be  a  true  parent  or  he  has  no  parental  rights  at  all. 
Nanny !  little  Nanny !  " 

But  the  child  heard  nothing.     She  had  fainted. 

"  You  see  ? "  said  Susannah,  showing  the  white  little 
face  which  lay  on  her  shoulder.  "  Now  go.  It  is  the 
best  thing  you  can  do." 

She  said  not  another  word — her  scorn  was  too  great. 
Under  it  he  slunk  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  garden : 
where  half  an  hour  afterwards,  "when  Nanny  was  quite 
recovered,  having  made  no  word  of  complaint  or  expla- 
nation except  "  Don't  tell  mother,"  he  was  seen  walking 
and  smoking  with  leisurely  grace,  just  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 

From  that  moment  Mrs.  Trevena's  mind  was  made 
up.  She  did  not  feel  particularly  drawn  to  Nanny,  who 
was  not  an  interesting  child ;  but  she  was  a  child,  and 
every  womanly  and  motherly  feeling  in  Susannah's  nat- 
ure revolted  from  the  thought  of  her  being  left  helpless, 
motherless,  in  the  hands  of  such  a  father. 

"  I  don't  want  to  do  it — I  would  prefer  not  to 
do  it,"  she  said  to  her  husband  in  the  few  minutes' 
talk  they  had  together  that  night.  "But  there  is  no 


120  KING    ARTHUR. 

alternative.  "When  Nanny's  mother  dies  we  must  take 
the  child." 

"I  suppose  we  must,"  said  Austin  with  a  troubled  air. 
"  But  she  is  not  the  least  bit  of  a  Trevena." 

"  No,  thank  God ! "  Susannah  was  on  the  point  of 
saying,  but  stopped,  and  leaning  down  kissed  the 
wrinkled  brow  that  she  had  loved  ever  since  it  was 
smooth  and  young.  "You  are  the  best  man  I  ever 
knew  in  all  my  life.  You  do  your  duty  whatever 
comes.  Do  it  still,  Austin,  and — so  shall  I." 

Before  settling  again  to  her  nightly  watch,  she  tucked 
up  little  Nanny  in  her  sofa-bed,  and  kissed  her — kindly, 
rather  than  tenderly.  She  felt  kindly  to  every  child, 
but  she  had  no  heart  of  love  for  any  but  Arthur.  Then 
seeing  Nanny's  mother  was  watching  her — apparently 
wide  awake,  and  wishing  to  talk — she  came  and  sat 
down  by  the  bedside,  prepared  for  whatever  might 
happen. 

"  Nanny  is  fast  asleep — she  was  rather  tired.  She  is  a 
good  little  girl." 

The  gentle  whisper  was  answered  by  a  faint  pressure 
of  Susannah's  hand.  "  Yes — very  good.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you — about  Nanny." 

It  was  not  an  hour  for  disguising,  or  delaying,  the 
truth.  Still,  Mrs.  Trevena  could  not  help  saying,  "  By 
and  by,  when  you  are  better." 

"  I  shall  never  be  better.  I  don't  want  to  be  better — 
I  want  to  die — except  for  Nanny."  And  as  she  spoke, 
very  feebly  and  faintly,  two  great  tears  stole  from  the 
dying  eyes,  and  rolled  down  the  wasted  cheeks. 

All  the  mother  in  Susannah's  heart  yearned  over  this 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  121 

other  mother,  obliged  to  go  and  leave  her  child  alone  in 
a  cruel  world.  She  paused  a  minute,  and  then  said, 
though  feeling  keenly  all  that  the  promise  involved,  and 
how  hard  a  sacrifice  it  was  to  make  it,  "  Be  content  about 
ISTanny.  "We — my  husband  and  I — will  always  take 
care  of  her." 

To  her  astonishment,  the  sick  woman,  instead  of  show- 
ing gratitude,  fell  into  an  agony  of  distress. 

"  No — no — no.  It  is  the  last  thing  I  should  wish.  Let 
her  be  taken  right  away — brought  up  anyhow,  anywhere 
— but  not  with  the  Trevenas.  ISTo  Trevenas  —  no 
Trevenas,"  she  kept  muttering;  while  shudder  after 
shudder  passed  over  her. 

Mrs.  Trevena  felt  neither  anger  nor  pain — not  even 
surprise.  In  her  sister-in-law's  place  she  knew  she  should 
have  said  the  same.  There  have  been  mothers — she 
could  understand  it — who  would  rather  see  their  chil- 
dren die  than  leave  them  in  the  hands  of  their  father. 

"  I  am  not  a  Trevena,"  she  said  soothingly.  "  Can  you 
not  trust  me  ? " 

The  dying  eyes  opened;  and  the  two  women — both 
mothers — looked  fixedly  at  each  other.  What  different 
faces ! — what  different  lives !  But  was  it  entirely  Fate 
that  had  done  it  ?  Do  we  not  constantly  see  some  women 
who  conquer  Fate,  and  make  peace  out  of  misery  ?  while 
others  throw  away  the  happiest  lot  and  convert  it  into 
woe  ?  However,  this  is  a  mystery  which  none  can  un- 
ravel :  Susannah  never  attempted  to  do  so. 

She  took  her  sister-in-law's  hand,  and  by  degrees  suc- 
ceeded in  winning  from  her  enough  confidence  to  get 

some  light  on  the  dark  future. 
6 


122  KING   ARTHUR. 

It  seemed,  the  woman's  one  hope  in  coming  to  Eng- 
land had  been  that  she  might  live  long  enough  to  place 
her  child  with  her  own  former  governess — a  Miss  Grogan 
—who  kept  a  small  school  at  Bath,  and  would  educate 
Nanny,  whether  paid  or  not  paid,  until  she  could  earn 
her  own  living ;  and  also  protect  her  from  the  one  person 
in  the  world  against  whom  she  required  protection — her 
father. 

"  Miss  Grogan  knows  everything ;  she  was  with  us  in 
Australia — she  is  altogether  faithful.  Take  Nanny  to 
her — take  her  yourself,  and  don't  tell  him  the  address — 
Nanny  knows  it — only  Nanny.  Hide  the  child  from  him 
— hide  her !  If  I  could  only  hide  her  with  me  in  the 
grave !  she  would  be  safe  there." 

"  She  shall  be  safe — I  will  see  to  that.     Be  satisfied." 

Susannah's  low  firm  voice  and  reassuring  clasp,  seemed 
to  bring  some  comfort  to  the  miserable  woman,  whose 
misery  would  soon  be  past.  For  such  as  she  there  is  no 
refuge  except  death ;  and  her  sister-in-law  knew  it. 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  may  trust  you — as  you  said,  you  are 
not  a  Trevena.  Look  here ! " 

Opening  her  night-dress,  she  showed,  suspended  round 
her  neck,  a  valuable  ring.  In  the  dim  candlelight  the 
stone  —  one  huge  diamond  —  glittered  with  a  ghastly 
brightness  on  the  poor  withered  breast,  little  more  than 
skin  and  bone. 

"  When  I  am  dead,  take  care  of  this.  My  father  found 
it  at  Ballarat,  and  left  it  to  Nanny.  It  is  all  she  has. 
Don't  let  him  see  it  —  don't  let  him  get  it.  You 
promise  ? " 

"  I  promise." 


NOT   A  LOVE    STORY.  123 

And  for  the  first  time  Susannah  kissed  her  sister-in- 
law.  When  her  lips  touched  the  brow  she  felt  the 
death-damp  already  gathering  there.  A  violent  fit  of 
coughing  came  on,  and  after  that  there  was  quiet. 

Should  she  disturb  this  last  hour  of  peace  ?  Susannah 
decided  not.  Should  she  call  the  household — or  fetch 
the  husband  who  was  such  only  in  name,  and  in  reality 
a  torment  and  a  terror,  to  trouble  the  dying  woman  ? 
The  poor  soul  wished. for  nobody,  asked  for  nobody; 
except  that  towards  dawn,  when  there  was  a  faint  twit- 
ter of  sparrows  under  the  eaves  outside,  she  opened  her 
eyes  and  looked  wistfully  round. 

"  Where's  Nanny  ?" 

"  Asleep  on  her  sofa  there  ;  but  I  can  lift  her  and  put 
her  beside  you." 

"  Please,  yes.  Thank  you.  God  bless  you."  Many 
a  year  after  Susannah  remembered  that  benediction. 

She  lifted  the  little  girl,  who  half  waked  up,  and  then 
with  a  contented  murmur  put  her  arm  round  her 
mother's  neck,  and  went  to  sleep  again.  Susannah  would 
have  moved  it — the  little  soft  arm,  heavy  with  sleep — 
but  the  mother  refused. 

"  No— no.     Don't  disturb  the  child." 

They  were  her  last  words. 

Mrs.  Trevena  had  watched  by  many  a  death-bed,  but 
this  one  was  so  peaceful  that  she  hardly  recognized  it 
was  such.  Mother  and  child  dropped  asleep  together 
so  quietly  and  naturally  that  she  thought  the  end  might 
not  come  for  a  good  while  yet.  She  sat,  watching  the 
daybreak  grow,  little  by  little,  full  of  many  and  anxious 
thoughts,  that  wandered  far  away  into  the  dim  future, 


124:  KING  ARTHUR. 

making  her  forget  the  present.  At  last,  hearing  the 
church  clock  strike  five,  she  rose  softly  to  undraw  the 
curtain,  and  returning  to  the  bed,  looked  at  the  sleepers. 

He  had  come — the  great  Divider.  The  child  was 
breathing  softly,  in  the  deepest,  happiest  slumber;  the 
mother — yes!  she  slept  too:  she  would  never  wake  to 
sorrow  any  more. 

Susannah  lifted  Nanny  in  her  arms,  covering  her  face 
with  a  shawl :  and  carried  her,  still  fast  asleep,  into  the 
next  room,  where  she  laid  her  down  in  Arthur's  bed. 
Then  she  came  back ;  closed  the  eyes  and  straightened 
the  limbs  of  the  dead ;  and  kneeling  by  the  bedside  wept, 
as  she  never  thought  she  should  have  wept  for  Halbert 
Trevena's  wife ;  scarcely  with  grief — but  with  a  tender- 
ness, the  memory  of  which  never  departed  from  her 
heart. 

When  Captain  Trevena  descended  to  his  usual  late 
and  solitary  breakfast,  he  received  the  news  of  his  wife's 
death,  which  he  took  so  easily  as  quite  to  relieve  Mrs. 
Trevena's  conscience  for  not  having*  summoned  him 
before. 

"  Poor  dear  girl !  "Well — it  was  to  be  expected.  I 
hope  she  did  not  suffer  at  the  last  ? " 

But  whether  or  not  she  had  suffered,  or  how  and  when 
she  died,  he  did  not  stay  to  hear.  His  brother  was  a 
great  deal  more  moved  than  he.  Still,  neither  of  them 
asked  to  enter  the  room,  where,  sweeter  far  in  death 
than  in  life,  the  dead  wife  and  mother  lay. 

It  was  not  till  nearly  mid-day  that  Mrs.  Trevena,  who 
had  left  Nanny  still  sound  asleep  in  Arthur's  bed,  heard 
through  the  silent  house  a  wild  cry,  and  found  the  child 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  125 

standing,  lialf-dressed  as  she  was,  battering  frantically 
against  the  locked  door,  and  screaming  aloud  for 
"Mother!" 

How  Susannah  got  through  the  next  half-hour,  she 
hardly  knew ;  how  she  managed  to  tell  the  child  the 
truth,  and  gradually  to  quiet  her  despair.  But  in  such 
crises  words  often  come  which  seem  like  inspirations ; 
and  there  was  in  Susannah's  very  silence — in  the  touch 
of  her  hand  and  her  kiss,  something  so  essentially 
motherly,  that  the  motherless  child  at  last  sobbed  her- 
self to  sleep  on  her  bosom,  and  was  again  laid  in  Arthur's 
bed. 

Then  Mrs.  Trevena  went  to  her  own ;  and  overcome 
with  sheer  exhaustion,  she  too  fell  asleep. 

"When  she  woke  up — tight,  rough,  boyish  arms  were 
round  her  neck,  and  she  was  almost  smothered  in  kisses. 

"  Mammy,  mammy.  I've  come  back,  and  I'm  on  the 
Roll — fifth  on  the  Roll.  I've  beaten  ninety  boys,  though 
I  never  went  to  school.  Next  term  I  shall  be  a  Win- 
chester boy — and  in  five  years  more  an  Oxford  man — 
for  I'll  try  to  get  to  New  College.  I  will,  mother !  How 
glad  you'll  be  ! " 

And  Arthur  was  very  much  astonished  to  find  his 
mother  weeping  on  his  neck  as  he  had  never  seen  her 
weep  in  all  his  life  before.  His  had  been  such  a  happy 
young  life ;  so  entirely  free  from  the  shadow  of  death — 
from  every  shadow  of  every  kind — that  no  wonder  he 
was  startled. 

He  had  rushed  in  with  his  joyful  news,  to  find  the 
house  empty  and  silent ;  for  the  two  brothers  were  in 
the  churchyard  choosing  a  grave ;  and  the  servants  were 


126  KING   ARTHUR. 

all  in  the  kitchen  "  talking  things  over."  No  one  had 
seen  him  arrive,  or  told  him  anything. 

"  I  ran  into  the  dining-room,  and  the  parlor,  and  then 
up  to  my  room — there's  a  queer  little  girl  fast  asleep  in 
my  bed — and  then  I  ran  in  here.  Mother,  what  is  the 
matter?  Why  do  you  cry?  Who  has  been  vexing 
you?" 

Mrs.  Trevena  made  her  son  sit  down  by  her — happy 
living  child  and  living  mother ! — and  explained  all  that 
had  happened. 

Some  men,  and  boys  too,  have  that  be^t  characteristic 
of  true  manhood — tenderness  over  the  weak  and  the  suf- 
fering. Mrs.  Trevena  had  seen  it  in  Arthur  before  now, 
but  never  so  plainly  as  when  he  went  with  her — of  his 
own  accord — "  to  comfort  poor  little  Nanny." 

Nanny  was  awake,  crying  quietly,  but  not  troubling 
anybody ;  it  seemed  to  have  been  the  law  of  her  young 
life  that  she  was  not  to  trouble  anybody. 

"  I  have  brought  my  son  to  see  you,  Nanny.  Kiss 
her,  Arthur."  And  the  two  children,  with  the  wonder- 
ful freemasonry  of  childhood,  kissed  one  another,  and 
made  friends  immediately. 

They  were  a  great  contrast ;  one  so  big  and  tall  and 
strong ;  handsome  too — bright-looking  as  bright-hearted ; 
the  other  puny,  dark,  and  plain — nothing  at  all  attract- 
ive about  her  except  large  pitiful  brown  eyes,  as  pathetic 
as  a  hunted  deer's.  She  looked  up  in  the  big  boy's  face, 
as  if  wondering  if  he  too  were  going  to  hurt  her — and 
then  she  began  to  smile. 

Arthur  took  hold  of  the  child's  hand — he  evidently 
thought  her  the  merest  baby;  and  proposed  that  she 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  127 

should  go  with  him  to  see  his  big  Newfoundland,  Nero, 
and  his  pretty  pigeons.  And  Nanny  went. 

Thankfully  Mrs.  Trevena  saw  that  Arthur  comforted 
the  poor  little  girl  twenty  times  better  than  she  could 
have  done.  And  it  gladdened  her  to  notice  that  during 
the  next  dreary  three  days  he  did  not  forsake  the  shut-up 
house,  or  get  weary  of  the  heartbroken  and  often  fretful 
child.  That  deep  pity  which  is  always  deepest  in  the 
strongest  hearts,  had  been  awakened  in  the  boy.  He  was 
chivalrous,  tender,  and  patient  too,  with  poor  Nanny,  to 
a  degree  that  his  mother  had  hardly  thought  possible  in  a 
lively  active  lad  of  thirteen.  But  she  rejoiced — as  she  did 
in  every  new  development  of  character  which  foretold 
what  sort  of  man  her  "  King"  Arthur  would  become. 

He  seemed  to  have  quite  forgotten  his  own  success, 
which  Mr.  Hardy  said  had  been  most  remarkable.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken  about  Winchester  until  the  days  of 
busy  quiet  "  with  death  in  the  house  "  were  ended,  and 
Nanny's  mother  had  been  laid  to  rest  in  the  churchyard 
close  by. 

Nanny  was  not  at  the  funeral — nor  Arthur.  Mrs. 
Trevena  sent  the  children  away  for  a  long  walk  across 
country,  and  when  they  came  back  the  blinds  were  all 
drawn  up  and  the  liouse  looking  as  usual.  So  Nanny's 
last  remembrance  of  her  mother  was — as  Mrs.  Trevena 
had  determined  it  should  be — that  peaceful  falling  asleep 
with  her  arm  round  her  neck,  as  seemed  to  have  been 
the  habit  of  years. 

Captain  Trevena  followed  his  wife  to  the  grave  with 
due  decorum,  and  in  a  new  suit  of  best  black  clothes, 
provided  by  his  brother.  Outsiders  might  have  thought 


128  KING   ARTHUR. 

he  mourned  sincerely  the  wife  whose  life  he  had  made 
utterly  miserable.  Perhaps  he  did  regret  her — for  a  day. 

All  that  evening  he  was  rather  subdued  and  grave ; 
spoke  kindly  to  his  daughter,  and  approved  of  her 
mourning-dress — arranged  like  everything  else,  by  her 
"  kindest  of  aunts  " — to  whom  he  left  every  responsibil- 
ity. Except  a  passing  remark  about  "  a  little  ring — a 
sort  of  crystal,  of  no  particular  value," — which,  if  she 
found,  he  should  like  to  have,  "  to  wear  in  remembrance 
of  my  late  dear  wife" — except  this  observation,  which 
Mrs.  Trevena  never  answered,  he  asked  no  question  about 
anything.  In  truth  there  was  nothing  to  inquire  about. 
Save  the  clothes  they  had  on,  mother  and  child  seemed 
to  have  possessed  scarcely  a  rag  in  the  world. 

Captain  Trevena  was  better  off.  And  when  at  sup- 
per-time he  announced  that  he  should  want  Bob  Bates 
to  carry  his  portmanteau  to  the  nearest  station,  as  he 
thought  of  going  to  London — "  for  a  few  days'  rest  and 
change" — nobody  attempted  to  hinder  him. 

He  went,  and  it  was  a  relief  when  he  was  gone.  To 
see  Nanny,  whom  he  had  forgotten  to  say  good-bye  to, 
break  into  a  broad  smile  of  happiness  when  told  her 
father  had  departed,  was  the  most  piteous  condemnation 
that  any  father  could  have  earned. 

"  Mother,  I  hate  that  man  !  He  is  no  more  like  my 
papa  than — than "  words  failed  to  Arthur's  youth- 
ful indignation.  "I'll  never  call  him  c  Uncle'  as  long 
as  I  live." 

"  You  need  not,"  answered  the  mother,  gravely.  "  He 
is  not  your  uncle,  and  Nanny  is  not  your  cousin ;  but 
you  can  always  call  her  so." 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  129 

"  I  will ! — and  I'll  protect  her  to  the  end  of  my 
days."  And  Arthur  looked  as  if  he  knew  how  much 
she  needed  protection — which,  very  likely,  he  did  know, 
though  with  the  not  uncommon  reticence  of  childhood 
the  two  young  creatures  kept  their  own  counsel.  It  had 
been  one  of  the  chivalrous  teachings  of  "  King  "  Arthur's 
mother  to  her  boy — "  Never  complain  ! " 

No  one  was  much  surprised,  or  very  sorry,  when  a 
whole  week  passed,  and  Captain  Trevena  did  not  reap- 
pear. Meantime,  Mrs.  Trevena,  who  never  let  grass 
grow  under  her  feet  when  there  was  anything  to  be 
done,  had  written  to  the  address  which  Nanny  gave  her 
— the  child  was  a  curious  mixture  of  babyishness  and 
sad  precocity — and  had  received  a  neatly  written  and 
kindly  worded  letter,  signed  "  Anastasia  Grogan,"  saying 
the  writer  would  be  glad  to  receive  her  goddaughter  im- 
mediately, in  her  quiet  home  at  Bath. 

"I  will  take  Nanny  there  myself,"  said  Susannah, 
explaining  to  her  husband  the  dead  mother's  wish,  and 
obeying  it  by  not  even  telling  him  Miss  Grogan's  ad- 
dress :  Austin  was  too  tender-hearted  to  be  trusted  with 
a  secret  that  concerned  his  clever  brother.  "And  I 
think  I  will  take  her  at  once." 

For  she  felt  that  with  the  then  existing  English  law, 
which  even  yet  maintains  the  fiction  of  mediaeval  and 
ancient  days,  that  a  man's  wife  and  children  are  his 
mere  goods  and  chattels  to  deal  with  as  he  chooses,  it 
would  not  be  safe  to  wait  Captain  Trevena's  return. 

Susannah  was  not  a  coward.  She  was  determined,  by 
fair  means  or  foul,  to  snatch  this  poor  innocent — a  girl 

too — out  of  her  father's  hands ;  to  circumvent  him,  and 
6* 


130  KING   AETHUE. 

the  law  too,  if  necessary,  by  all  possible  means.  She 
had  no  conscience-stings  —  no  scruple  about  parental 
rights — there  can  be  no  rights  where  duties  are  left  un- 
fulfilled. 

"  God  gave  me  no  children,"  she  sighed  to  herself,  as 
she  watched  Arthur  and  Nanny  at  play  in  the  garden — 
Nanny  had  blossomed  out  like  a  flower  in  that  one 
week's  peace  and  love.  "  But  I  have  saved  one  child  : 
perhaps  it  may  be  His  will  that  I  shall  help  to  save  an- 
other." 

So,  one  fine  morning — leaving  a  line  for  Austin,  who 
had  gone  to  a  diocesan  meeting — she  started  with  the 
two,  for  she  dared  not  leave  Arthur  behind,  and,  be- 
sides, he  was  company  for  Nanny.  Her  heart  melted  as 
she  wrote  the  brief  note,  almost  the  first  since  her  mar- 
riage, to  her  "  beloved  husband,"  from  whom  she  had 
never  been  parted  for  a  day.  She  knew  her  departure 
would  vex  and  grieve  him,  but  he  would  be  glad  after- 
wards. For  sometimes,  in  the  relief  and  peace  of  his 
brother's  absence,  the  rector  had  begun  to  notice  his 
little  niece,  and  once  had  even  taken  her  on  his  knee, 
and  remarked  that  she  had  "  the  Trevena  hands." 

"  She  is,  after  all,  the  last  of  the  Trevenas — his  own 
flesh  and  blood  :  if  I  can  save  her,  Austin  will  be  glad." 

So  thought  the  faithful  wife — faithful,  though  stern — 
as  the  train  whirled  her  away  to  Bath,  she  sitting  silent, 
and  her  two  "  children  "  opposite  chattering  like  a  couple 
of  magpies.  Two  children — neither  of  them  her  own, 
yet  God  seemed  to  have  given  them  to  her,  and  she  ac- 
cepted the  trust.  If  she  could  only  make  them  His  chil- 
dren, her  life  would  not  have  been  in  vain. 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  131 

Had  Miss  Grogan  proved  unsatisfactory,  she  had  de- 
termined, at  all  risk  and  cost,  to  bring  Nanny  back  to 
the  rectory;  but  it  was  needless.  She  found  a  bright 
little  house,  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  pleasant  Bath  hills, 
and  in  it  a  bright  little  woman — Irish,  certainly,  but  of 
that  type  of  Irishwoman  which  English  folk  are  so  slow 
to  believe  in.  Tidy,  accurate,  methodical ;  keeping  her 
house  "  in  apple-pie  order,"  and  herself  "  as  neat  as  a 
new  pin;"  to  these  proverbially  un-Irish  qualities  Miss 
Grogan  added  others,  which  even  enemies  allow  to  the 
children  of  the  Emerald  Isle — a  warm  heart,  a  blithe 
spirit,  quick  sympathy,  and  ready  generosity.  Withal, 
that  most  desirable  thing  in  man  or  woman — courage. 
Elderly  as  she  was,  there  was  a  sparkle  in  Miss  Grogan's 
soft  Irish  eyes  which  showed  that  she  knew  how  to  de- 
fend a  friend  and  to  face  a  foe.  Susannah  felt  instinct- 
ively that  the  poor  feeble  dead  woman  had  judged 
rightly.  Here  was  the  right  person  to  bring  up,  and,  if 
necessary,  to  protect,  the  wrorse  than  orphan  child. 

"  Yes,  I  know  him,"  was  all  Miss  Grogan  said  of  Hal- 
bert  Trevena.  "  I  agree  with  you  ;  the  best  thing  we 
can  do  for  Nanny  is  never  to  mention  her  father's  name, 
'  Non  ragionam  de  lor,  ma  guarda  e  passa,' "  added 
she,  with  a  little  innocent  pedantry — she  was  evidently 
a  well-educated  woman.  And  so  the  subject  ended. 

For  a  long  time  the  godmother  refused  to  accept  any 
money  for  Nanny,  but  finally  her  Irish  pride  had  to  sub- 
mit to  her  evidently  narrow  means,  and  the  practical 
common  sense  of  Mrs.  Trevena;  and  it  was  agreed  that 
a  fair  annual  payment  should  be  guaranteed  by  Nanny's 
uncle  and  aunt,  if  they  both  lived. 


132  KING  AKTHUR. 

"  And  if  we  die,"  said  Susannah,  "  there  is  still  this 
diamond  ring." 

"I  know  it  of  old." 

"  He  says  it  is  '  of  no  particular  value.'  " 

"  Let  us  find  out,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  smile,  that 
might  have  been  called  sarcastic,  had  not  Miss  Grogan 
been  such  a  very  pleasant  old  lady. 

So  the  two  elders  went — the  two  children  following — 
down  into  the  pleasant  streets  of  Bath,  to  a  jeweler's 
there,  and  found  that  the  diamond,  though  roughly  set, 
was  of  great  value — probably  worth  three  or  four  hun- 
dred pounds. 

Susannah  breathed  with  new  relief  and  thankfulness. 

"  Then,  in  any  case,  the  child  will  not  be  destitute. 
Should  we  die  before  she  is  grown  up,  it  will  suffice  to 
educate  her.  Do  you  hear,  Nanny  ?  "  for  she  felt  it  bet- 
ter that  the  child,  who  knew  so  much,  should  know 
everything.  "  This  ring  is  yours,  your  grandfather's 
gift :  it  is  worth  several  hundred  pounds,  and  you  shall 
have  it  when  you  are  twenty-one,  or  when  you  marry." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  marry — mamma  told  me  not — it 
would  only  make  me  miserable,"  said  the  child,  her  tears 
beginning  to  flow,  as  they  always  did  when  she  spoke  of 
her  mother  ;  but  the  consoler  was  at  hand.  She  turned 
to  him  gratefully — "  Yes,  I  think  I  will  marry — I'll 
marry  you,  Cousin  Arthur — and  then  you  will  get  the 
diamond  ring." 

Arthur  blushed — schoolboy  fashion  ;  and  Miss  Gro- 
gan said  primly,  "  My  dear,  you  are  too  young  to  talk 
about  such  things."  Mrs.  Trevena  said  nothing,  but 
was  conscious  of  a  queer  sensation,  scarcely  an  arrow — 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  133 

more  like  a  pin-prick — at  her  heart,  for  which  she 
laughed  at  herself,  but  did  not  get  rid  of  it — not  for 
days. 

She  left  Nanny  quite  content,  for  her  godmother  was 
evidently  well  remembered  by  her ;  and  there  had  ap- 
peared at  tea-time  two  little  girls,  Australian-born,  who 
had  been  confided  to  Miss  Grogan  for  education.  These 
young  companions  lessened  the  grief  of  parting  with 
Arthur :  and  Arthur  himself  seemed  to  feel  he  had  done 
his  utmost  duty  to  "  only  a  girl,"  and  might  now  plunge 
back  into  boy-life,  and  tell  his  mother  all  about  the 
delight  of  Winchester. 

No  tongue  can  tell  the  relief  it  was  when  Susannah 
found  herself  sitting  in  the  rectory  parlor — alone  with 
her  very  own  two,  her  husband  and  son,  and  nobody 
else !  The  storm  had  come  and  gone  ;  she  had  borne  it, 
had  done  her  duty  through  it — her  utmost  duty — and 
now  the  sky  was  clear,  at  least  for  a  time. 

Alas,  no !  "When  Arthur  went  to  bed  she  told  her 
husband  as  much  as  it  seemed  desirable  to  tell  about  lit- 
tle Nanny's  affairs,  to  which  Mr.  Trevena  listened  with 
his  usual  absent-mindedness.  The  worried  look  gradually 
returned  to  his  face ;  till  at  last,  when  Susannah  asked 
the  natural  question,  "  Any  letters  ? "  he  drew  one  out 
of  his  pocket.  It  was  the  long-familiar  handwriting  that 
always  foreboded  trouble. 

"  This  came  yesterday,  but  I  would  not  answer  it  till 
you  returned  home.  Read  it,  and  tell  me  what  you 
think." 

It  was  one  of  those  lucky  chances  which  few  men's 
lives  are  quite  without ;  which  had  come  again  and  again 


134:  KING   ARTHUR. 

to  Halbert  Trevena,  and  been  thrown  away.  An  old 
friend  of  the  family,  whom  he  had  just  met  accidentally, 
after  having  lost  sight  of  for  years,  had  offered  him  a  situ- 
ation abroad,  at  a  tea-garden  in  Ceylon ;  a  lonafide  offer, 
for  he  inclosed  the  letter  in  which  it  was  made — a  most 
kind  letter  from  an  old  man,  who  knew  scarcely  any- 
thing of  him,  except  that  he  was  a  Trevena.  It  seemed 
to  have  touched  that  callous  heart.  Though  there  would 
be  hard  work  and  little  pay,  Hal  wished  to  accept  the 
situation,  and  asked  his  brother  "  for  really  the  last 
time  "  to  assist  him  ;  to  pay  his  passage  and  give  him  a 
small  outfit  to  begin  "  a  new  life  in  a  new  land." 

"  He  may  prosper  there,  he  is  so  clever,"  said  Austin. 
"  And  not  very  old — only  a  year  older  than  I."  Indeed 
he  looked  much  younger,  having  such  a  splendid  phy- 
sique, and  what  some  cynical  physician  has  called  the 
secret  of  long  life — "  a  good  digestion,  and  no  heart  to 
speak  of."  "  Who  knows,  Susannah,  but  that  poor  Hal 
might  do  well  yet  ? " 

Susannah,  loath  to  wound  this  pathetic,  lingering,  fra- 
ternal love,  replied  that  it  was  "just  possible."  At  any 
rate,  she  felt  that  some  sacrifice  was  worth  making,  if 
only  to  get  rid  of  him. 

So  the  money  was  sent,  though  not  in  coin,  the  pas- 
sage being  paid  to  the  ship's  agent,  and  the  outfitter's 
bill  ordered  to  be  forwarded  to  the  rectory :  precautions 
not  unnecessary.  Hal  did  not  resent  them ;  he  never 
resented  anything,  and  always  accepted  everything. 
About  his  daughter  he  asked  not  a  single  question ;  nor 
even  named  her,  until  his  farewell  letter,  when,  apolo- 
gizing for  having  no  time  to  come  to  Tawton,  he  said 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  135 

that  he  left  her  "  with  entire  confidence  "  to  the  care  of 
her  uncle  and  aunt. 

u  Poor  fellow !  Perhaps  I  may  never  set  eyes  on  him 
again — the  climate  of  Ceylon  is  very  bad,  they  say. 
Would  there  be  any  chance  of  seeing  him  off  from 
Southampton  ? " 

There  was  a  pathos  in  Mr.  Tre vena's  look  which  his 
wife  could  not  resist.  Much  as  it  often  irritated  her,  she 
could  not  but  see,  with  a  tenderness  approaching  to  rev- 
erence, how  deep  in  this  good  man's  heart  lay  that  divine 
charity  which  "  believeth  all  things — hopeth  all  things." 
The  journey  would  be  a  trouble  and  expense,  and  the 
family  finances  were  already  sorely  strained — would  be 
more  so  by  the  payment  for  Nanny.  Not  for  Arthur : 
oh !  with  what  glad  pride  did  she  reflect  that  Arthur's 
education  would  cost  Mr.  Trevena  almost  nothing.  She 
calculated  a  little,  and  then  said : 

"  If  you  like,  Austin,  we  will  go  to  Southampton  at 
once." 

"  You  too  ? "  he  said  joyfully.  And  they  started : 
their  first  journey  together  for  many  a  long  year.  It 
felt  almost  like  a  honeymoon. 

Susannah  had  almost  expected  not  to  see  her  brother- 
in-law — but  he  was  there.  He  seemed  really  to  have 
"  turned  over  a  new  leaf" — as  people  say — though  alas ! 
the  new  leaf  often  gets  as  blurred  and  blotted  as  the  old 
one !  He  met  them  with  even  more  than  his  customary 
empressement,  and  the  trio  had  a  peaceful  and  pleasant 
dinner  together  at  the  hotel  before  joining  that  company, 
sad  and  strange — which  goes  on  board  every  P.  and  O. 
steamer  with  last  farewells. 


136  KING  ARTHUR. 

Their  adieux  were,  however,  no  heart-break  to  any 
one.  Captain  Trevena  was  in  exuberant  spirits.  The 
newly-made  widower  might  have  been  a  gay  young 
bachelor  beginning  the  world,  free  as  air,  with  not  a 
cloud  of  regret  or  remorse  upon  his  heart. 

"  How  is  Nanny  ? "  he  did  once  ask ;  but  he  never 
waited  for  the  answer;  and  soon  after  said — quite  care- 
lessly as  it  seemed :  "  By  the  bye,  have  you  brought  the 
little  ring  I  wished  for  ? — not  that  it  is  worth  much,  but 
I  should  like  to  wear  it  in  memory  of  my  late  dear  wife." 

For  an  instant  Susannah  was  silent  with  indignant 
contempt ;  then  she  said,  in  a  manner  that  he  could  not 
mistake : 

"  I  know  exactly  what  the  ring  is  worth,  for  I  have 
had  it  valued  by  a  jeweler.  But  it  is  not  yours — it  is 
Nanny's — left  her  by  her  grandfather.  I  shall  keep  it 
for  her  till  she  is  twenty-one." 

"  The  devil  you  will ! "  And  truly  the  devil  himself 
glared  out  of  the  angry  eyes,  and  spoke  in  the  muttered 
execration  which  followed.  But  Captain  Trevena  had 
been  checkmated — or  rather  he  had  checkmated  himself: 
and  it  was  too  late  now,  except  for  furious  looks  and 
words,  which  fell  harmless  upon  the  little  woman  before 
him.  He  might  as  well  have  stormed  against  a  stone — 
and  he  knew  it. 

However,  he  thought  it  wiser  to  let  all  pass.  His 
handsome  face  recovered  its  usual  bland  smile,  and  by 
the  time  that  "  All  on  shore "  was  called  out,  he  was 
ready  with  a  cheery  good-bye. 

"  It  really  was  most  kind  of  you,  Austin,  to  come  and 
see  me  off.  Give  my  love  to  Nanny.  Say,  I  leave  her 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  137 

in  charge  of  the  best  of  uncles — and  aunts  "  (with  a  bow 
in  which  it  was  difficult  to  say  whether  politeness  or 
sarcasm  predominated).  u  Good-bye  to  you  both — good- 
bye." 

They  left  him  kissing  his  hand  to  them  as  he  leant 
over  the  ship's  side;  but  almost  before  Susannah  ven- 
tured to  speak  to  her  husband,  who  had  turned  aside, 
the  tears  running  down  his  cheeks,  she  saw  Halbert 
laughing  and  talking  with  some  ladies :  he  had  already 
made  acquaintance  with  several  of  the  passengers,  and 
before  reaching  Suez  would  doubtless  be  the  most  popu- 
lar man  on  board. 

"  No  need  to  grieve  for  him,"  she  thought,  biit  said 
nothing.  Nor  did  her  husband.  All  the  under  tragedies 
of  life  are  often  acted — and  perhaps  best — in  total  silence. 

"  Hal  may  do  well  yet,"  Mr.  Trevena  said,  as  a  sort 
of  remorseful  balance-weight  against  the  deep  sense  of 
relief  that  they  both  felt  in  coming  back,  they  two  alone, 
to  their  peaceful  home.  Except  for  that  grave,  equally 
peaceful,  in  the  churchyard  hard  by,  all  the  last  weeks 
might  have  been  a  painful  dream.  Once  more  the  rector 
and  his  wife  sauntered  leisurely  up  and  down  the  peach- 
tree  walk,  and  Arthur  went  back  to  his  lessons,  and  was 
for  ever  asking  his  papa  about  old  Winchester  days — 
which  the  old  Wykehamite  recalled  with  utmost  enthu- 
siasm— the  days  "  when  Hal  and  I  were  boys  together ; " 
only  one  was  an  idler  and  the  other  a  worker.  Still — 
Austin  often  ended  with  the  sigh — u  But  Hal  may  do 
well  yet." 

He  might  have  done — though  it  is  seldom  that  at  the 
eleventh  hour  the  Ethiopian  changes  his  skin  and  the 


138  KING   ARTHUR. 

leopard  his  spots — but  fate — cruel  or  merciful,  who  dare 
say ! — ordained  it  otherwise. 

Three  days  after  he  sailed  the  daily  newspaper  brought 
to  the  rectory,  and  to  many  another  English  home, 
tidings  of  one  of  those  disasters  at  sea,  which  not  sel- 
dom happen  to  outward-bound  ships — a  collision  in  the 
channel.  The  emigrant  ship — a  miserable  unseaworthy 
craft — went  down  immediately,  but  the  passengers  and 
crew  of  the  large  steamer  did  their  best  to  save  all  the 
lives  they  could,  launching  boats,  and  helping  the  drown- 
ing wretches  to  climb  on  board.  One  passenger  in  par- 
ticular, it  was  said,  had  assisted  many,  holding  on  at  the 
ship's  side,  and  throwing  out  from  thence  ropes  and  life- 
preservers.  But  the  vessel  gave  a  lurch — he  fell  over- 
board— and  never  rose  again.  The  name  of  this  brave 
passenger,  it  was  ascertained,  was  Halbert  Trevena. 

So  all  "was  over.  No  more  hope — nor  fear.  His 
death,  more  honorable  than  ever  his  life  had  been,  cov- 
ered over  its  many  shortcomings — or  sins.  "  Captain 
Trevena's  heroic  conduct "  was  mentioned  in  the  news- 
papers :  and  for  months  after,  letters-  of  condolence, 
admiration,  and  gratitude,  reached  the  rectory  from 
friends  and  strangers.  ISTo  one  could  have  desired  a 
more  lauded  or  lamented  end. 

Scarcely  a  melancholy  end,  Susannah  sometimes 
thought.  For  his  last  act  had  been  perhaps  the  noblest 
in  his  life.  Better  he  should  die  as  he  did,  and  when  he 
did,  and  be  spoken  of  with  praise  and  remembered  with 
tenderness.  She  thought,  with  untold  thankfulness,  of 
that  journey  to  Southampton,  and  how  the  brothers  had 
parted  in  peace,  with  kindly  good  wishes,  hopes  and 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  139 

prayers — which  perhaps  Heaven  had  answered  in  its 
own  way. 

There  was  no  need  to  go  and  console  Nanny  for  the 
death  of  a  parent  who  had  never  been  such  to  her  except 
in  name ; — but  Mrs.  Trevena  collected  carefully  all  that 
the  newspapers  had  said  in  his  praise,  and  every  letter 
which  reached  the  rectory  concerning  him,  asking  Miss 
Grogan  to  keep  them  for  Nanny,  and  teach  the  child  to 
forget  everything  about  her  father  except  his  blameless 
and  heroic  end. 


CHAPTER   VI 

YOUNG  lovers  are  a  sweet  and  pleasant  sight:  and  so 
are  young  married  people,  absorbed  in  their  present 
bliss,  with  the  future  stretching  out  before  them,  all  in  a 
golden  haze.  But  the  sweetest  and  sacredest  sight  of 
all  is  an  elderly  couple  to  whom  hope  has  become  cer- 
tainty :  whose  future  has  narrowed  down  to  a  quiet 
present — yet  who  love  one  another  still,  and  by  the 
strength  and  perfectness  of  that  love  are  able  to  enjoy 
JSTow,  without  regretting  Then. 

Thus  it  was  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena.  Though 
married  late  in  life,  their  real  union  had  begun  so  early, 
that  neither  had  a  past  or  desired  a  future  in  which  the 
other  had  no  share.  Of  course,  their  felicity  had  not 
been  unclouded  :  what  human  happiness  is  ?  But  "  the 
little  rift  within  the  lute  " — which  happens  in  almost  all 
marriages,  and  has  power  in  many  to  "  make  the  music 
mute " — had  been  closed  by  wise  hands ;  partly  the 
hand  of  Providence,  and  partly — let  it  be  honestly  said  ! — 
their  own.  There  is  no  marriage  which  cannot  be  made 
unhappy — there  are  few  marriages  which  cannot  be 
made  less  unhappy — if  the  parties  concerned  so  choose. 

Austin  and  Susannah  had  not  grown  less  happy  as 
they  grew  older — rather  the  contrary.  He  no  longer 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY. 

sacrificed  everything,  his  wife  included,  on  the  shrine 
of  what  is  called  "  family  duty  " — a  religion  which, 
begun  in  the  noblest  faith,  sometimes  degenerates  into 
a  mere  fetish-worship  of  what  is  essentially  mean  and 
base.  And  Susannah,  when,  also  out  of  duty,  she  let 
her  boy  become  a  schoolboy,  and  contented  herself  with 
only  seeing  him  in  the  holidays — was  saved  from  that 
passion  of  maternal  idolatry  which  might  have  proved 
equally  fatal  for  him,  for  her,  and  for  her  husband. 
Gradually  she  learnt  the  inevitable  lesson  of  all 
mothers — to  sit  still  and  see  their  children  happy  on 
their  own  account.  Not  ceasing  to  make  them  happy, 
but  ceasing  to  feel  wounded  because  the  new  generation 
has  a  happiness  apart  from  the  old. 

When  Arthur's  letters  came,  brimful  of  enjoyment, — 
Greek  and  football,  cricket,  music,  and  mathematics 
being  inextricably  muddled  up  together — for  the  young 
u  King  "  verified  the  adage  of  "  good  at  work,  good  at 
play  "  ;  full  too  of  Winchester  slang,  which  Mr.  Trevena 
recalled  with  delight,  and  protested  was  not  vulgar  at 
all,  but  only  archaic  and  historical — the  unexacting 
mother  read  the  brief  postscript — "  How  are  you  all  at 
home  ? "  and  did  not  expect  more.  She  knew  her  dar- 
ling loved  her  in  his  heart ;  and  that  the  thirteen  years 
during  which  she  had  had  him  all  to  herself,  to  train 
both  mind  and  body  in  the  right  way,  would  never  be 
lost,  but  bear  fruit  in  time  to  come. 

Yet  when  he  returned,  after  a  few  months,  a  regular 
Winchester  boy,  at  first  he  seemed  something  new  and 
strange.  He  had  grown  very  tall;  and,  it  could  not 
be  denied,  promised  to  be  extremely  handsome :  even 


142  KING    ARTHUR. 

though  he  had  cropped  his  curly  hair  in  the  cruellest 
way,  and  scarred  his  long  slender  hands  with  knife-cuts ; 
nay,  as  he  told  his  mother  with  great  pride,  had  been 
within  an  inch  of  breaking  his  beautiful  Roman  nose. 
Still,  despite  these  drawbacks,  when  he  went  to  church 
with  her  the  first  Sunday,  he  was  a  boy  that  most  people 
would  have  turned  round  to  look  at,  and  whom  any 
mother  would  be  proud  to  have  standing  by  her  side, 
and  singing  away — "  like  a  cherubim  " — one  old  woman 
in  the  congregation  said — with  the  waning  beauty  of  his 
boyish  voice,  which  had  made  him  already  notable  in 
the  Winchester  choir. 

"  Whether  or  not  Arthur  will  turn  out  handsome,  he 
certainly  looks  every  inch  a  gentleman,"  she  said  to  her 
husband  as  they  took  their  peaceful  stroll  between  ser- 
vices, up  and  down  the  peach-tree  walk. 

"  All  Wykehamites  are  gentlemen,"  the  rector  an- 
swered with  pardonable  prejudice. 

But  she  had  meant  something  more  than  that. 
"  What  is  bred  in  the  bone  will  come  out  in  the  flesh  " — 
is  a  truth  which  there  is  no  gainsaying.  All  the  educa- 
tion in  the  world  would  never  have  put  into  Arthur 
what  did  not  inherently  exist  there.  There  must  have 
been  good  material,  natural  or  hereditary,  to  work  upon. 
E"ow,  far  more  than  when  he  was  a  baby — her  own  inno- 
cent, helpless  baby — did  Susannah  speculate  about  him, 
noticing  every  new  development,  and  contrasting  him 
with  other  children.  Especially  with  Nanny,  who 
shortly  after  also  came  home  for  the  holidays. 

The  "last  of  the  Trevenas,"  as  her  uncle  sometimes 
pathetically  called  her,  was,  Mrs.  Trevena  thought,  very 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  143 

inferior  to  her  own  Arthur.  Nanny  was  a  good  little 
girl;  but  she  was  prim  and  quiet,  taciturn  and  plain. 
She  could  not  compare  at  all  with  the  big  schoolboy — 
full  of  life,  health,  and  activity.  Not  that  Arthur  was 
ever  unkind  to  her  ;  but  he  just  ignored  her,  as  school- 
boys do  ignore  little  girls,  unless  specially  attractive.  He 
tried  to  be  civil  and  polite — brought  her  flowers  and  con- 
descendingly took  her  a  walk  now  and  then  ;  but  he  told 
his  mother  confidentially  that  li  Nanny  was  a  big  baby  " 
— and  escaped  from  her  society  whenever  he  politely 
could.  At  which  poor  Nanny  used  to  look  so  miserable, 
that  Mrs.  Trevena  considered  seriously  whether  it  would 
not  be  better  in  future  to  arrange  the  child's  home-com- 
ing at  a  different  time  from  Arthur's. 

But  next  year  Fate  took  the  decision  out  of  her  hands ; 
for  Miss  Grogan  had  a  severe  illness,  and  Nanny,  with  a 
resolution  which  her  uncle  and  aunt  had  not  expected  in 
so  small  a  child,  absolutely  refused  to  leave  her. 

"Nanny  always  was  a  devoted  little  creature,"  said 
Mrs.  Trevena,  remembering  those  few  days  in  the  sick- 
room— the  room  of  death.  But  still  she  was  not  sorry 
to  have  her  boy  all  to  herself  for  those  brief,  too  brief 
holiday  weeks ;  when  she  could  watch  him  growing  up 
to  manhood — the  delight  of  her  heart — the  desire  of 
her  eyes. 

He  was  in  truth  a  very  fine  young  fellow.  At  sixteen 
he  was  little  short  of  six  feet  high.  Slender  and  stipple 
as  a  willow-wand,  yet  not  lanky;  very  muscular  and 
strong  for  his  age.  He  was  good  at  all  athletic  sports, 
and  made  as  much  use  of  his  body  as  he  did  of  his 
brains.  His  mother's  maxim,  "  Better  to  wear  out  than 


144  KING    ARTHUR. 

rust  out,"  seemed  exemplified  in  "King"  Arthur — 
though  he  did  not  seem  likely  to  wear  out  for  the  next 
threescore  years  at  least ;  for  the  wholesome  upbringing 
of  his  childhood  had  resulted  in  a  healthy  youth,  and 
bade  fair  to  develop  into  a  splendid  manhood. 

Often  when  she  looked  at  him,  she  wondered  whence 
all  this  came — this  wealth  of  physical  and  mental  power; 
much  as  Merlin  must  have  wondered,  when  he  saw  grow 
up  under  his  eyes  the  "  little  naked  child ; "  naked  of 
every  hereditary  blessing ;  owing  fortune  nothing — not 
even  a  name. 

"  The  boys  always  call  you  Trevena  ? "  she  once  said 
to  him  anxiously.  "  They — they  ask  no  questions  ? " 

Arthur  blushed,  as  he  had  done  more  than  once  lately 
when  strangers  made  unconscious  ignorant  remarks; 
such  as  noticing  his  height,  and  saying  he  "  took  after 
his  papa." 

"  They  did  chaff  me  at  first,  mother — just  a  little. 
And  one  fellow  called  me  Nemo — but  I  thrashed  him  to 
within  an  inch  of  his  life.  And  then  I  told  the  other 
fellows  the  plain  truth  about  myself,  as  you  advised  me. 
Nobody  ever  said  an  ill  word  to  me  afterwards." 

So,  already  had  begun  for  Arthur  that  battle  with  the 
world,  from  which  his  mother  could  not  defend  him — she 
could  only  give  him  strength  for  the  conflict. 

"  That  was  well,"  she  answered  gently.  "  Indeed,  I 
think  only  a  ( sneak '  or  a  t  cad,'  as  you  call  them,  would 
have  been  unkind  to  you.  A  name  and  even  a  family 
are  not  worth  much  sometimes — were  not  to  poor  little 
Sir  Eustace  Damerel,  who  died  last  Christmas.  We  shall 
see  what  the  new  Damerels  will  be  like.  They  came  to 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY. 

Tawton  Abbas  last  week,  and  will  likely  be  at  church 
next  Sunday." 

Thus  said  she,  to  turn  away  her  boy's  thoughts  from 
himself.  But  she  need  not  have  feared — Arthur's  nature 
was  too  wholesome,  and  his  youth  too  full  of  hope  and 
brightness,  to  have  any  morbid  or  sentimental  feelings 
about  either  his  origin  or  his  future  lot.  And  Win- 
chester had  not  made  him  oblivious  of  Tawton  Magna. 
He  took  the  vividest  interest  in  hearing  about  the  Dam- 
erels — Sir  Charles  and  his  lady ;  who  had  inherited  the 
title  and  estates,  and  come  to  reside  at  the  great  house — 
which,  being  the  only  house  except  farm-houses  for  miles 
round,  was  a  matter  of  some  importance  to  the  rectory. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  call  there,  mother  ?  You  ought," 
said  Arthur — who  was  a  little  given  to  laying  down  the 
law — as  is  not  uncommon  at  sixteen.  "  Are  they  young 
folks  or  old  ?  Have  they  got  any  children  ? " 

"I  believe  they  are  rather  elderly  people;  distant 
cousins,  whom  nobody  ever  heard  about  till  lately.  And 
I  think,  but  I  am  not  sure — they  have  no  children." 

At  which  Arthur's  interest  died  down — he  said  he 
didn't  care  for  "old  fogies."  And  next  Sunday  he 
scarcely  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  Tawton  Abbas 
pew,  where,  in  the  two  arm-chairs  which  had  stood  there 
for  generations  back,  sat  the  new  Baronet  and  Lady 
Damerel.  They  sat,  with  dead  Damerels  underfoot  and 
monuments  to  the  same  overhead — the  last  representa- 
tives of  the  race.  Only  their  two  selves ;  though  report 
declared  they  had  had  several  children — all  dead  now. 
Susannah  wondered  how  a  childless  couple  should  ever 
have  cared  to  claim  either  title  or  property. 
7 


146  KING  ABTHUB. 

Of  course  they  were  stared  at  eagerly  by  the  whole 
congregation.  A  curious  pair — she,  a  fine-looking,  fash- 
ionable woman,  with  a  complexion  much  too  fair  and 
hair  much  too  dark  for  her  age ;  but  the  simple  villagers 
suspected  nothing,  and  set  her  down  as  being  younger 
than  her  husband,  who  was  a  feeble-looking,  melancholy 
little  man,  nigh  upon  seventy.  Two  footmen  had  helped 
him  into  church,  and  set  him  in  his  chair,  whence  he 
never  moved,  for  his  feet  and  hands  were  all  knotted 
and  distorted  with  rheumatism.  But  he  had  a  mild  and 
not  unpleasing  face — aristocratic — aquiline — "as  big  a 
nose  as  mine,"  Arthur  said,  in  commenting  upon  them 
after  church.  "  But  oh !  I  wouldn't  be  Sir  Charles 
Damerel  for  the  world ! " 

"  Nor  I  Lady  Damerel,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena.  "  Poor 
woman — what  an  unhappy  face  !  No  wonder,  if  she  has 
lost  all  her  children." 

And  Susannah  almost  regretted  having  stopped  to 
speak  to  them  at  the  church  door,  introducing  herself  as 
the  rector's  wife,  and  Arthur  as  "  my  son."  "  How  she 
must  envy  me ! "  thought  the  tender-hearted  soul,  and 
blamed  herself  for  flaunting  before  the  childless  woman 
her  own  superior  bliss. 

"  I  don't  think  Lady  Damerel's  children  could  have 
been  very  fond  of  her,"  remarked  Arthur  sententiously. 
"  She  may  be  good-looking,  but  she  has  the  hardest  and 
most  unpleasant  face  I  ever  saw.  My  little  mammy  is 
worth  a  hundred  of  her,"  added  he,  putting  his  arm 
round  his  mother's  waist  as  of  old ;  he  was  now  growing 
past  the  age  when  boys  are  ashamed  of  their  mothers, 
and  he  petted  and  patronized  her  to  her  heart's  content. 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  14:7 

Still,  he  was  too  much  of  the  schoolboy  to  care  to  "  go 
about  visiting/'  and  absolutely  declined — unless  she  par- 
ticularly wished  it — to  accompany  her  to  Tawton  Abbas, 
or  make  acquaintance  with  that  "  horrid  old  couple ; " 
over  whom  she  had  such  unnecessary  compassion  that 
even  the  rector  smiled. 

"My  dear  Susannah,  I  can't  see  that  Lady  Damerel 
needs  the  least  pity — or  desires  it.  I  hear  she  is  a  most 
accomplished  woman ;  will  fill  the  house  with  brilliant 
society,  and  be  popular  everywhere.  The  rector's  wife 
will  be  nobody — the  squire's  wife  will  take  the  shine  out 
of  you  completely." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  it ! "  cried  Arthur,  blazing  up  ;  "  I'd 
like  to  find  the  lady  who  was  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to 
my  mother ! "  he  continued,  dragging  forward  the  easiest 
arm-chair  and  putting  her  into  it,  and  waiting  upon  her 
unremittingly  during  their  pleasant  Sunday  supper, 
when  all  the  servants  were  out,  and  Arthur  did  every- 
thing. He  had  that  happy  knack  of  true  gentleman- 
hood,  never  to  be  ashamed  of  doing  everything — or  any- 
thing :  always  ready  to  notice  every  one's  need,  and  sup- 
ply it — especially  his  mother's. 

"  You  are  my  eyes,  my  hands,  and  my  feet,"  she 
sometimes  said  to  the  boy ;  and  gave  herself  up,  more 
and  more  every  holidays,  to  the  delight  of  being  depend- 
ent— of  leaning  on  her  big  son,  with  a  sort  of  triumphant 
weakness  that  was  utmost  joy. 

But  he  was  an  obstinate  young  monkey  for  all  his  good 
qualities ;  possessing  strongly  the  violent  likes  and  dis- 
likes of  youth.     And  so  it  happened  that  for  two  whole 
years  he  never  crossed  the  threshold  of  Tawton  Abbas. 
K 


148  KING   AETHUR. 

Nor  did  the  rector  and  his  wife  very  often — not  oftener 
than  politeness  and  their  position  demanded.  Susannah 
had  few  interests  in  common  with  the  fashionable  woman 
of  the  world,  who  was  afraid  of  growing  old,  and  who 
seemed  to  have  no  youth  to  remember ;  at  least  she  never 
mentioned  it.  Austin,  too,  had  little  sympathy  with  Sir 
Charles,  who,  though  gentle  and  gentlemanly,  did  not 
seem  to  have  two  ideas  in  his  head — read  no  books,  took 
no  special  interest  in  anything,  and  seemed  mortally  in 
fear  of  his  clever  wife.  She  on  her  part  noticed  him 
very  little,  and  led  a  regular  society-life — at  least  as  gay 
a  one  as  she  could  accomplish — going  to  London  when- 
ever she  could,  and  bringing  London  people  down  with 
her  on  every  possible  occasion.  But  she  mixed  very  lit- 
tle with  the  neighboring  families,  who,  being  unable  to 
discover  her  antecedents  (Sir  Charles's,  of  course,  were 
patent — he  was  a  Damerel  and  that  was  enough),  con- 
cluded there  was  "  something  odd  "  about  her.  Perhaps, 
as  she  had  some  slight  accent,  not  quite  English,  and 
spoke  several  continental  tongues,  she  was  a  foreigner — 
never  much  approved  of  in  provincial  society.  Still,  she 
was  very  handsome — very  lady-like ;  all  the  gentlemen 
admired  her,  but  the  ladies  thought  her  "  not  domestic," 
and  wondered  that  at  her  age  she  should  care  for  con- 
certs, private  theatricals,  and  the  like. 

However,  to  their  opinion  of  her  Lady  Damerel 
seemed  wholly  indifferent.  She  gave  a  tenants'  ball  at 
Christmas,  and  a  garden-party,  to  all  classes  not  lower 
than  doctors  and  lawyers,  every  summer.  But  beyond 
that  the  village  and  the  rectory  saw  almost  nothing  of 
her,  except  at  church,  which  she  attended  regularly,  and 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  149 

where  Mrs.  Trevena,  tender-hearted  still,  often  compas- 
sionated the  discontented  look  and  restless  manner  of 
the  rich,  clever,  prosperous  woman,  who  had  neither  son 
nor  daughter — not  even  niece  or  nephew — at  her  empty 
fireside. 

"  How  very  empty  it  must  be  when  the  visitors  go, 
and  Sir  Charles  and  she  are  left  alone,"  Susannah  said 
one  day.  "  I  think  I  will  really  pluck  up  heart ;  go 
and  call  at  Tawton  Abbas,  and  take  Nanny  with  me." 
Nanny  happened  to  be  staying  for  a  fortnight  at  the 
rectory,  and  her  uncle  and  aunt  had  found  her  so  harm- 
less, even  pleasant  in  the  house,  that  they  had  kept  her 
for  a  month.  But  the  call  resulted  in  nothing — not 
even  an  invitation  to  tea  for  the  quiet  unimpressive  little 
maiden,  who  was  stared  at  from  the  piercing  black  eyes, 
through  a  double  pince-nez. 

"  Miss  Trevena — did  you  say  ?  Your  daughter,  I 
conclude?" 

"  My  niece ;  I  have  no  daughter.  It  is  my  son  you 
see  at  church,  Lady  Damerel." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember  now.  A  tall  young  fellow — 
rather  good-looking.  You  must  bring  him  to  see  me 
some  day.  But  we  have  no  young  people  here,  Miss 
Trevena.  Your  mother — I  mean  your  aunt — is  more 
fortunate  than  I.  All  my  children  are  dead." 

She  said  this,  not  with  any  tone  of  regret,  but  simply 
as  stating  a  fact ;  then  proceeded  to  discuss  a  new  book 
and  a  new  opera ;  talking  miles  above  the  head  of  poor 
innocent  Nanny,  who  thought  that  cousin  Arthur — 
whom  she  seemed  to  miss  extremely  from  the  rectory  in 
spite  of  his  ignoring  of  her — was  right  in  considering 


150  KING   AKTHUK. 

Lady  Damerel  the  finest  of  fine  ladies,  and  the  most 
unpleasant. 

Nanny  was  now  getting  old  enough  for  her  future  to 
require  consideration.  Not  from  her  uncle,  who  never 
looked  a  day  ahead :  but  she  and  her  aunt  sometimes 
talked  it  over.  Nanny  was  an  independent  little  soul. 
She  knew  she  had  not  a  penny  in  the  world ;  except  the 
value  of  that  diamond  ring ;  nor  a  friend,  save  Miss 
Grogan,  who  was  growing  old  and  frail.  Perhaps  her 
mother's  sore  experience  still  lingered  in  her  little  soul 
— for  she  was  not  a  bit  of  a  Trevena,  nor  seemed  much 
drawn  to  the  Trevenas.  She  said  calmly,  "  I  shall  be  a 
governess ; "  and  though  very  grateful  to  her  uncle  for 
all  his  goodness,  made  it  clear  enough  that  as  soon  as 
she  could  earn  her  own  bread,  she  would  never  eat  the 
bread  of  dependence.  Her  aunt  saw,  not  without  thank- 
fulness, that  Halbert  Trevena's  daughter  was,  as  often 
happens,  the  very  opposite  of  himself.  But  though  she 
was  very  kind  to  Nanny,  and  liked  her  sincerely,  she 
scarcely  loved  her — one  cannot  make  oneself  love  even  a 
child.  And  then  all  her  heart  was  bound  up  in  her  own 
boy.  "When  Nanny  went  away,  and  Arthur  came  home 
for  the  holidays,  Susannah  felt  the  difference. 

"King  "  Arthur  was  much  altered — much  improved. 
He  was  in  his  last  year  at  Winchester,  and  looked  quite 
the  young  man.  There  had  never  been  much  of  the 
"  hobbledehoy "  in  him,  probably  because  he  was  not 
shy — he  did  not  think  enough  about  himself  for  shyness. 
Reserved  he  was,  in  a  sense ;  but  that  painful  bashful- 
ness,  which  as  often  springs  from  egotism  as  modesty, 
never  troubled  him  much.  By  nature — and  also  by  wise 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  151 

upbringing — he  was  a  complete  altruist — always  inter- 
ested in  other  people,  and  "  bothering  "  himself  very- 
little  about  himself  and  his  own  affairs. 

But  just  now  he  could  hardly  help  it.  He  had  come 
home  greatly  excited  by  an  incident — a  coincidence  such 
as  happens  in  real  life  oftener  than  we  think,  and  yet 
when  put  into  books  everybody  cries  out,  "  How  unnat- 
ural ! " 

One  day  a  little  "  commoner"  he  knew  was  visited  by  a 
hitherto  unknown  grandfather,  whom  all  the  boys  were 
inclined  to  laugh  at,  for  his  strong  American  accent 
and  queer  American  ways,  till  they  found  out  what  a 
kindly  old  fellow  he  was,  and  what  funny  stories  he  told. 

"  He  tipped  us  all  round  and  asked  our  names,  and 
when  he  heard  mine,  he  started  as  if  I'd  hit  him.  Who 
do  you  think  he  was  mother  ?  Guess  now — guess  ? " 

It  needed  no  guessing.  "  Dr.  Franklin !  I  am  so 
glad  he  is  alive." 

"  Very  much  alive,  indeed ! "  cried  Arthur.  "  He's  as 
sharp  and  clever  as  ever  he  can  be ;  and  so  kind — all  the 
fellows  liked  him,  though  he  was  a  foreigner  and  an 
American.  I'm  not  a  bit  ashamed  of  my  godfather; 
and  I  like  him  very  much." 

"  You  have  need  to,"  said  Susannah  gravely.  And 
when  a  few  days  after  Dr.  Franklin  appeared  at  the 
rectory  ("  as  large  as  life  and  twice  as  natural,"  said  he, 
with  his  queer  internal  chuckle),  the  welcome  he  received 
was  almost  pathetic  in  its  earnestness.  When  Susannah 
sat  talking  to  him,  and  found  him  scarcely  changed — as 
gaunt  and  lanky,  quaint  and  kind,  as  ever — it  seemed  as 
if  eighteen  years  were  rolled  away  like  a  cloud,  and  she 


152  KING  ARTHUR. 

were  once  more  the  woman  who  sat  beneath  the  snow- 
wall  above  Andermatt — gazing  on  the  snow-mountains, 
and  trying  not  to  be  broken-hearted,  but  to  accept  God's 
will  whatever  it  was,  and  make  for  herself  a  happy  life — 
unconscious  how  even  then  that  Holy  Will  was  pre- 
paring for  her  a  happiness  she  never  dreamt  of. 

"  Look  at  him,"  she  said,  as  Arthur  just  then  crossed 
the  lawn  with  his  two  big  dogs,  whistling  to  them,  and 
then  breaking  out  into  a  stave  of  "  Dulce  domum,"  in  a 
voice  which  promised  to  be  a  fine  tenor  some  day. 
"  Who  would  have  thought  my  baby — your  baby, 
doctor,  you  saved  him  for  me !  would  have  grown  up  to 
that!" 

"  It's  a  trick  they  have,  ma'am.  My  ten  are  all  men 
and  women  now — uncommonly  good-looking  too,  some 
of  them." 

And  then  he  explained  that  his  eldest  daughter — • 
"  fine  girl — very  fine — took  after  her  mother,  not  me" — - 
had  married  a  rich  English  baronet,  which  accounted  for 
the  fact  of  himself  being  grandfather  to  a  Winchester 
boy. 

"  Your  boy  might  be  a  baronet's  son  too,  ma'am,  if 
there's  anything  in  blood.  Mrs.  Franklin  says  there 
isn't ;  that  it's  all  upbringing.  But  in  that  case  even, 
Arthur  does  you  the  greatest  credit." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Susannah ;  and  then  tacitly  fol- 
lowing the  young  fellow — for  it  seemed  such  a  pleasure  to 
look  at  him — they  passed  through  the  churchyard  into 
the  park  of  Tawton  Abbas  ;  still  talking  like  old  friends. 
and  regretting  that  a  very  natural  incident — Dr.  Frank- 
lin's losing  their  address,  and  therefore  being  unable  to 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  153 

give  them  his  own — had  made  them  strangers  for  so 
many  years. 

"  Which  have  been  happy  years,  by  your  looks,  Mrs. 
Trevena  ?  No  anxiety  over  your  boy  ? — you  have  never 
heard  anything  about  that  woman  ? "  Dr.  Franklin  did 
not  say  that  "  mother  " — who  had  no  right  to  the  name. 

"  Never.     Have  you  ? " 

Dr.  Franklin  looked  uncomfortable.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  tell  you  unless  you  asked  me  the  direct  ques- 
tion ;  but — she  has  bothered  me  a  little.  At  least  I  sup- 
pose it  was  she." 

And  then  he  explained  that  a  year  or  two  ago  there 
had  appeared  in  a  New  York  paper  an  advertisement  for 
a  Dr.  Franklin,  who  would  "  hear  of  something  to  his 
advantage,"  which  his  wife  had  insisted  on  his  answer- 
ing ;  and  then  had  come  a  letter,  in  an  evidently  feigned 
hand,  requesting  particulars  about  a  child  that  was  born 
at  Andermatt  —  whether  "it"  was  alive — and  where 
"it"  was? 

"  Perhaps  she  had  forgotten  whether  '  it'  was  a  boy  or 
a  girl.  '  Can  a  mother  forget  her  sucking  child  ? ' — 
Well — some  mothers  do." 

"And  what  did  you  reply?"  Mrs.  Trevena  could 
scarcely  speak  for  agitation. 

"  Least  said,  soonest  mended— I  never  answered  one 
single  word." 

"  Thank  you — thank  you !  Did  you  keep  the  letter  ? 
What  address  was  given  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Franklin  has  it.  Some  milliner  or  dressmaker, 
I  think,  in  London." 

"  In  London ! "  A  shudder  of  repulsion  and  dread 
7* 


154  KING   ARTHUR. 

passed  over  Susannah ;  and  then  that  stern  sense  of 
justice,  so  strong  in  her,  conquered  it.  "Perhaps  she 
was  a  dressmaker — some  poor  working-woman  who  was 
almost  starving,  and  did  not  wish  her  baby  to  starve 
too." 

"  Pshaw ! — Does  that  boy  look  like  the  son  of  a  work- 
ing-woman ?  And  it  was  herself  she  wanted  to  save 
from  starvation,  not  her  baby.  No,  no,  ma'am ;  I  saw 
her — you  never  did.  She  used  always  to  rave  about 
being  a  £  woman  of  genius ' — very  likely  an  actress  or 
singer — that  very  singer  who  ran  away  from  Milan." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  so.  And  the  musical 
faculty  descends.  Just  listen  to  that  boy." 

Arthur  was  singing  "  Dulce  domum  "  at  the  top  of 
his  voice — a  rather  cracked  voice  now ;  but  it  was  not 
ignorant  singing — he  evidently  knew  what  he  was 
about. 

"Music  is  his  passion,  as  it  is  with  many  a  boy,  till 
the  work  of  the  world  knocks  it  out  of  him.  But  this 
letter — Stop,  there  is  the  Tawton  Abbas  carriage — let 
us  step  aside." 

For  Mrs.  Trevena  felt  that  to  interchange  polite 
nothings  with  the  great  lady  would,  at  this  moment,  be 
beyond  her  power.  She  and  Dr.  Franklin  passed  under 
a  group  of  trees,  so  that  Lady  Damerel  never  saw  them. 

Arthur,  however,  did  not  step  aside.  He  ceased  his 
gay  school-song,  and  standing  on  the  grass,  lifted  his  hat, 
as  the  carriage  drove  by,  with  a  gesture  so  carelessly 
graceful,  so  unlike  country  youths  in  general,  that  Lady 
Damerel  turned  to  look  after  him. 

He  was,  in  truth,  worth  looking  at,  in  his  rough  gray 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  155 

clothes,  with  a  gray  cap  set  on  the  top  of  his  crisp  fair 
curls — it  was  before  the  time  when  the  fashion  made 
young  men  crop  themselves  like  returned  convicts. 
Lithe  and  slender  as  a  young  David,  and  in  manner 
neither  shy  nor  forward,  because  thinking  more  of  other 
people  than  himself — Arthur  never  came  to,  and  had 
now  quite  passed,  that  awkward  stage  when  a  boy  does 
not  know  what  to  do  with  himself,  and  especially  with 
his  legs  and  arms. 

It  was  no  wonder,  Mrs.  Trevena  thought,  that  Lady 
Damerel,  indifferent  as  she  was  to  her  neighbors,  should 
turn  and  glance  after  him. 

"Poor  woman!"  said  she,  explaining  to  Dr.  Franklin 
a  little  of  the  domestic  history  of  Tawton  Abbas.  "  I 
dare  say  she  would  give  the  world  to  have  a  son  like 
mine." 

"  Maybe.  But  there  are  mothers — and  mothers,  like 
the  woman  we  were  talking  about.  Shall  I  tell  Mrs. 
Franklin  to  send  you  her  letter?  if  she  hasn't  burnt  it, 
which  perhaps  may  have  been  the  best  thing." 

"  Perhaps,"  echoed  Susannah,  wishing  in  her  heart — 
though  her  conscience  reproached  her — that  it  might  be 
burnt,  and  forgotten.  "  It  could  do  no  good  to  Arthur." 

"No,  for  the  lad  doesn't  care  a  straw  about  his 
mother." 

"I  am  his  mother,"  said  Susannah,  with  a  certain 
grave  dignity. 

"  You're  right,  ma'am.  May  he  never  have  any  other 
as  long  as  he  lives ! " 

But  mothers,  even  the  happiest  mothers  of  the  best  of 
sons,  have  their  anxieties. 


156  KING  ARTHUR. 

Some  days  after  this,  Dr.  Franklin,  with  the  practical 
common  sense  of  a  man  of  the  world,  asked  his  godson, 
very  naturally,  what  he  was  going  to  be  ? 

Arthur  hesitated,  and  looked  uncomfortable.  His 
mother,  thinking  this  arose  from  diffidence  or  modesty, 
answered  for  him. 

"  My  son's  career  is  already  cut  out  for  him.  There 
are  six  New  College  scholarships  given  at  Winchester 
every  year.  Arthur  is  so  good  at  mathematics,  the  head- 
master tells  us,  that  he  is  quite  sure  of  one.  He  will  go 
in  for  it  next  year  and  take  himself  to  college  as  he  did  to 
school.  Then — a  boy  who  has  earned  his  own  education 
can  generally  earn  his  own  living ;  especially  at  Oxford." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  Arthur  slowly,  "  I  may  not  go  to 
Oxford  at  all.  I  mean  to  be  a  musician." 

"  A  what  ? "  cried  Dr.  Franklin,  bursting  into  laughter. 
"  A  street-singer,  or  an  organ-grinder,  going  about  the 
country  with  a  monkey  and  a  couple  of  white  mice ! " 

Ridicule  is  the  sharpest  of  weapons  with  the  young. 
Arthur  turned  white  with  anger,  but  controlled  himself, 
and  explained  that  a  friend  of  his,  just  returned  from  a 
German  Conservatoire,  had  advised  him  to  go  there  and 
study  music  as  a  profession. 

"  At  whose  expense,  my  boy  ? "  asked  Dr.  Franklin, 
dryly. 

Arthur  colored.  "I  don't  know.  I  have  never 
thought." 

"  But  you  ought  to  think — you  are  old  enough.  How 
old?" 

"Eighteen  past.  Next  year  I  should  go  in  for  the 
scholarship,  if  I  go  in  at  all.  Mother  ? " 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  157 

She  did  not  answer.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
heard  of  this  idea ;  the  first  time  her  boy  had  kept  back 
anything  from  her,  or  that  his  will  had  run  counter  to 
hers,  never  an  arbitrary  will.  From  his  very  childhood, 
as  soon  as  he  could  reason  at  all,  she  had  taught  him  to 
use  his  reason,  and  had  never  from  him  exacted  blind 
obedience.  Explanation,  whenever  possible,  she  gave ; 
and  her  argument  was  never  "  Do  it  because  I  command 
it,"  but  "  Do  it  because  it  is  right." 

This  fancy  of  Arthur's  struck  her  with  sharp  pain. 

No  wonder  she  looked  sad  and  grave — and  even  the 
second  anxious  appeal — "  What  do  you  say,  mother  ? " 
brought  no  response.  Just  then  Mr.  Tre vena  was  heard 
calling  all  over  the  house,  "  Susannah— Susannah  !  " — as 
he  usually  did  if  he  missed  her  for  five  minutes,  and  she 
hurried  away  without  having  said  a  word. 

"Well,  young  man  ?  You  are  a  nice  young  man,  to 
make  your  mother  look  like  that !  Still  nicer  to  expect 
your  father  to  maintain  you  in  expensive  study  for  the 
next  five  or  ten  years." 

Arthur  flushed  crimson.  He  liked  his  godfather  sin- 
cerely; still,  Dr.  Franklin  often  "rubbed  him  up  the 
wrong  way."  It  was  the  contrast  between  the  practical 
and  the  artistic  temperament;  the  born  democrat,  and 
—well,  heaven  only  knew  what  Arthur's  birth  was,  but 
he  looked  the  young  "  aristocrat,"  every  inch  of  him. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "  I  had  no 
idea  of  vexing  my  mother ;  and  I  wish  to  stand  on  my 
own  feet  as  soon  as  ever  I  can." 

"  That's  right,  lad.  I  did  it,  before  I  was  your  age. 
I  was  message-boy  at  a  chemist's  store.  But  I  soon 


158  KING   ARTHUR. 

went  ahead — we  all  go  ahead  in  the  States.  Our  motto 
is  '  Every  man  for  himself,  and ' — taking  off  his  cap  rev- 
erently— <  God  for  us  all.'  That's  what  I  said  to  my  six 
sons,"  continued  he.  "  I  gave  them  a  good  education, 
and  then  I  left  them  to  shift  for  themselves.  And  they 
have  done  it — uncommonly  well,  too.  There  isn't  one 
of  them  now  that  ever  wants  a  cent  from  his  father." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  not  from  mine — at  least,  not  for  very 
long,"  said  Arthur,  proudly. 

"  That's  right,  my  boy ;  for  Mr.  Trevena  isn't  as  young 
as  he  has  been,  and  he  has  another  encumbrance  besides 
yourself — that  little  girl  your  mother  told  me  of.  What's 
her  name  ? " 

"  Nanny." 

"  I  hear  she's  a  plucky  little  thing,  and  means  to  go 
out  as  a  governess — which  is  quite  right.  A  woman 
should  earn  her  own  bread  as  well  as  a  man.  But  if  her 
uncle  helped  anybody,  he  ought  to  help  her ;  because, 
you  see,  she  is  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  you " 

"  I  understand  !  "  And  again  came  that  violent  blush, 
which  showed  what  keen  sensitiveness  lurked  under 
Arthur's  merry  and  manly  outside.  Then,  speaking 
with  evident  effort.  "  Godfather,  you  are  right  to  remind 
me  of  that.  Tell  me — for  I  believe  you  were  present  at 
my  birth — who  were  my  father  and  mother  ? " 

"  My  poor  lad,  I  declare  to  you  I  haven't  the  slightest 
idea." 

They  had  gone  outside  the  drawing-room  window, 
and  were  lying  on  the  grassy  slope — the  Kentuckian 
puffing  at  his  pipe,  and  Arthur  sitting  beside  him,  his 
arms  round  his  knees,  gazing  straight  forward,  \vith  a 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  159 

graver  expression  than  his  wont.     Dr.  Franklin  scanned 
him  sharply. 

"It  was  an  awkward  business,  Arthur.  If  I  were 
you,  I'd  think  about  it  as  little  as  possible." 

"  So  I  do.  As  mother  often  says,  a  man  is  responsible 
for  himself  and  his  children,  but  certainly  not  for  his 
parents.  Still,  I  should  like  to  know  all  I  can." 

"  How  much  has  your  mother  told  you  ? " 

"  Only  that  you  found  me — you  and  she — somewhere 
in  the  Alps.  I  suppose  I  had  a  father  and  a  mother,  but 
she  never  speaks  of  them  at  all." 

"Bravo!"  muttered  Dr.  Franklin.  But  he  himself 
felt  no  inclination  for  such  generous  reticence;  he 
thought  it  fairer  on  all  sides  that  the  boy  should  know 
everything ;  so  he  then  and  there  told  him  everything. 

Arthur  listened,  his  cap  drawn  over  his  eyes,  his 
hands — such  long,  slender,  beautiful  hands — clasped 
together  round  his  knees. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  am  glad  I  know. 
The — the  lady — was,  you  suppose,  an  opera-singer  ? " 

"  I  don't  say  that,  but  it's  possible." 

"  And  she  sold  me,  you  say — sold  me  for  twenty 
pounds  ? " 

"  Yes."  He  was  just  on  the  point  of  adding,  "  and 
she'd  like  to  buy  you  back  again  now,"  when  he  remem- 
bered Mrs.  Trevena's  caution,  that  until  they  heard 
from  America  they  should  say  nothing  about  the  letter. 
It  would  not  benefit  Arthur — perhaps  only  unsettle 
him.  And  they  had  the  dressmaker's  address ;  while 
the  unmotherly  mother — her  brief  note,  if  hers,  was, 
Dr.  Franklin  declared,  "as  cold  as  a  stone  "—had  to 


160  KING   ARTHUR 

them  no  clue  whatever.  "  All  the  better ! "  thought  he. 
And  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena  just  then  appearing,  he 
ended  the  conversation. 

It  was  not  renewed ;  though  he  stayed  some  days 
longer  at  the  rectory.  The  annual  garden-party  at 
Tawton  Abbas  was  coming  off,  and  the  old  Ken- 
tuckian  said  he  should  like  to  "  study  life "  in  an 
English  country-house.  So  in  addition  to  the  invita- 
tion for  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena,  and  Mr.  Trevena, 
junior" — ("you  see,  mother" — laughed  Arthur — "your 
fine  lady  doesn't  even  take  the  trouble  to  discover  my 
Christian  name") — a  note  was  sent  to  Tawton  Abbas 
for  permission  to  bring  "  a  friend  from  America "  to 
join  the  party. 

"  Then  you'll  not  want  me,"  said  Arthur,  very  reluc- 
tant to  go.  But  his  mother  wished  it.  He  had  been 
unlike  himself,  she  thought,  the  last  day  or  two;  and 
though  she  had  carefully  abstained  from  reviving  the 
Oxford  question  till  Dr.  Franklin  was  gone,  still  she 
saw  that  something  was  on  his  mind.  He  followed  her 
about  with  extra  tenderness,  divining  all  she  wanted, 
and  doing  everything  for  her  more  like  a  girl  than  a  boy. 
But  he  said  nothing  until  they  were  walking  together 
across  the  park  to  the  garden-party ;  only  they  two,  for 
Dr.  Franklin  had  home  letters  to  write  by  the  mail,  and 
he  and  Mr.  Trevena  could  not  appear  till  late. 

So  Susannah  had  her  boy  all  to  herself;  and  very  nice 
he  looked,  and  very  proud  she  was  of  him.  He  was 
proud  of  her  too,  he  said,  after  eying  her  over  with  the 
sharp  criticism  of  youth — approving  her  new  dress,  and 
wishing  she  would  wear  it  every  day. 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  161 

"  But  I  can't  afford  silk  every  day,"  said  she,  laughing. 
"  I  am  not  Lady  Damerel." 

"  No,  thank  goodness !  I  wouldn't  change  my  little 
mother  for  a  dozen  Lady  Damerels." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  try  to  dress  a  little  better  and  talk  a 
little  more,  just  to  please  you  and  papa.  I  am  glad  my 
son  is  not  ashamed  of  me." 

"  I  hope  my  mother  is  not  ashamed  of  me,"  said 
Arthur  gravely.  And  then  he  told  her  in  a  few  words 
— so  few  that  it  wras  easy  to  see  how  deeply  he  felt — of 
the  conversation  between  his  godfather  and  himself; 
and  how  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  in  for  mathe- 
matics and  give  up  music  entirely. 

Susannah  breathed  a  sigh  of  thankfulness,  and  then 
replied,  "Not  entirely,  my  son.  Music  may  still  be 
your  pleasure — your  staff,  if  not  your  crutch." 

"  Not  at  present.  I  love  it  so  that  I  must  give  it  up, 
if  I  mean  to  be  anything.  And  I  do  mean  to  be  some- 
thing, some  day,"  added  he,  tossing  his  head  and  plant- 
ing his  foot  firmly  on  the  ground. 

The  young  think  the  old  were  never  young.  It  did 
not  occur  to  Arthur  that  his  quiet  little  mother  felt  her 
heart  throb  while  he  spoke.  She  too  had  had  her 
dreams — of  fame,  ambition,  love — had  written  verses  by 
the  yard  and  stories  by  the  dozen ;  yet  she  had  earned 
her  bread  as  a  daily  governess,  and  finally  would  end 
her  days  as  the  old  wife  of  a  country  parson.  But  she 
had  eaten  cheerfully  the  dry  bread  of  existence,  and 
made  it  sweet  by  thankfulness.  Though  tears  were  in 
her  eyes  now,  they  were  not  regretful  tears. 

"  I  think,  Arthur,  you  are  right.     The  secret  of  life  is 


162  KING  ARTHUR. 

not  to  do  what  one  likes,  but  to  try  to  like  that  which 
one  has  to  do.     And  one  does  come  to  like  it — in  time." 

"  Yes,  mother.  And  if  I  turn  out  a  great  Oxford  don 
—shall  you  be  pleased  ?  Would  you  like  me  to  make  a- 
name  for  myself? — the  only  name  I've  got,"  added  he 
with  a  slight  bitterness  of  tone,  which  went  to  Susan- 
nah's heart.  "  So  I'll  go  in  for  the  scholarship  at  New 
College,  and  papa  need  not  spend  a  halfpenny  upon  me 
at  Oxford.  Then — poor  little  Nanny  need  not  be  a 
governess." 

"  "What  made  you  think  of  Nanny  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Trevena  with  some  surprise.  For  the  children  had 
scarcely  met  for  years,  until  last  week,  and  then  only  for 
a  few  hours;  since  Arthur  came  home  at  night,  and 
Nanny  left  next  morning.  She  had  been  very  shy  with 
him,  and  he  had  treated  her  with  the  majestic  bearing  of 
a  big  boy  towards  a  very  little  girl. 

"  My  godfather  said  papa  ought  to  help  Nanny  and 
not  me.  He  is  right ;  she  is  a  girl — and  she  is  papa's 
own." 

"  And  you  are  my  own ! "  answered  Susannah,  with 
the  passionate  tenderness  that  she  so  seldom  expressed. 
But  she  said  no  more.  The  wisdom  of  parents  some- 
times lies  in  accepting  rather  than  in  making  sacri- 
fices. 

Arther  found  himself  less  miserable  than  he  had  ex- 
pected to  be  at  the  garden-party,  even  though  it  was,  as 
some  one  graphically  described,  "a  penn'orth  of  all 
sorts,"  through  which  the  hostess  moved  like  a  con- 
descending queen.  She  had  various  out-door  amuse- 
ments for  the  inferior  folk — performing  dogs,  hand-bell 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  163 

ringers,  etc. — and  for  her  choicer  guests  there  was  very 
good  music  in  the  drawing-room.  She  looked  politely 
surprised  when  she  saw  the  Trevenas  eagerly  listening. 

"  Do  you  play  or  sing,  Mrs.  Trevena  ? " 

"  No,  but  iny  son  does." 

"  Oh,  indeed." 

Here  Mr.  Hardy,  the  High  Church  curate,  said  a  word 
or  two,  which  caused  the  great  lady  to  put  up  \LQY  pince- 
nez  (she  was  old  enough  to  wear  spectacles,  but  never 
would)  and  scan  Arthur  sharply. 

Most  elderly  women — mothers  or  not — like  to  look  at 
a  graceful  handsome  boy.  As  this  childless  woman  did 
so,  a  vexed  expression  passed  over  her  face — not  regret 
or  pain,  but  a  sort  of  irritation.  An  outcry  against 
Providence,  Mrs.  Trevena  thought  it  was,  and  felt  sorry 
for  her,  till  Lady  Damerel  broke  into  the  most  gracious 
of  careless  smiles. 

"  Perhaps  Mr. ,  I  forget  his  Christian  name, — 

Mr.  Trevena  will  come  to  our  rescue  in  accompanying  a 
trio  ?  Our  own  pianist  has  not  come.  And  our  soprano 
says  she  is  too  hoarse  to  sing.  "We  are  very  unfortunate." 

"Not  if  we  can  induce  you  to  take  her  place,"  said 
some  one  near.  "You  know  you  have  sung,  Lady 
Damerel." 

"  Oh  yes — a  little — when  I  was  a  girl,"  said  she  care- 
lessly, listening  to  the  touch  of  Arthur's  long  lingers  on 
the  keys — the  magic  touch  which  all  musicians  recognize. 
It  was  a  magnificent  piano,  and  the  artist's  delight  over- 
came the  boy's  shyness. 

"  Play  something,"  she  said ;  and  Arthur  played — 
exceedingly  well.  "  Do  you  read  at  sight  ? " — and  she 
L 


164:  KING   ARTHUR. 

placed  the  trio  before  him.  It  was  one  of  those  dashing 
operatic  seen  as  of  the  last  generation,  full  of  show  and 
difficulty,  and  embellished  with  fioriture.  Arthur 
dashed  into  it — so  did  the  tenor  and  bass — and  finally, 
as  if  she  could  not  help  it,  the  soprano. 

Lady  Damerel  must  have  had  a  fine  voice  once  ;  and 
even  now  had  the  brilliant  remains  of  it :  a  thoroughly 
cultivated  voice — not  tender,  not  pathetic,  but  high  and 
flexible  as  a  musical  instrument,  and  capable  of  ex- 
ecuting those  wonderful  tours  deforce  which  "bring  the 
house  down."  She  did  it  now ;  seeming  quite  to  forget 
herself  in  the  pleasure  of  her  own  performance :  so  much 
so  that  she  thought  necessary  to  apologize. 

"  I  am  almost  too  old  to  sing — but  I  used  to  like  it 
once.  Now  —  in  my  position  —  with  my  many  social 
duties — of  course  a  lady  is  different  from  a  professional." 

"  You  might  have  been  a  professional,  ma'am  :  you 
sing  so  splendidly.  I  never  heard  anything  better,  even 
in  America." 

The  honest  Kentuckian  had  been  standing  outside  the 
open  French  window,  and  now  walked  in — in  his  enthu- 
siasm not  waiting  to  be  introduced.  When  Mr.  Trevena 
mentioned  "Dr.  Franklin,"  Lady  Damerel  suddenly 
turned  round. 

"  I  guess  you  never  saw  an  American  before.  And 
perhaps,  ma'am,  in  my  compliments  to  your  singing,  I 
was  more  honest  than  polite.  But  when  we  like  a  thing 
we  also  like  to  say  so." 

Lady  Damerel  bowed.  She  looked  white — possibly 
with  the  exertion  of  singing. 

"America's  a  fine  country,  ma'am,  and  we've  some 


NOT   A   LOVE    8TOET.  165 

uncommonly  fine  singers  there — fine  women  too,  espe- 
cially in  the  South.  You  remind  me  of  my  country- 
women exceedingly." 

Again  Lady  Damerel  bowed,  rather  haughtily ;  and 
sat  down,  almost  hiding  her  face  with  her  large  fan. 
But  no  blush,  came  to  her  cheek  except  the  permanent 
one  which  it  owed  to  art :  and  she  had  the  stereotyped 
smile  of  a  person  well  used  to  flattery. 

Mrs.  Trevena,  rather  annoyed  at  her  good  friend's 
bluntness,  took  the  first  opportunity  of  getting  him  away 
— much  to  his  amusement. 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  to  Lady  Damerel.  She's  an  un- 
commonly handsome  woman  still,  and  very  like  an 
American.  I  wonder  where  she  was  raised.  I'm  sure 
I've  seen  her  somewhere — or  somebody  very  like  her. 
Has  she  got  a  sister,  do  you  know  ?  And  what  sort  of  a 
fellow  is  the  husband  \  " 

Poor  Sir  Charles  was  meekly  seated  outside  in  his 
self-propelled  chair;  speaking  to  few  people,  and  appar- 
ently very  much  afraid  of  everybody,  especially  his 
wife ;  for  he  kept  out  of  her  way  as  much  as  possible. 
Wreck  as  he  was,  he  had  a  refined,  amiable  face — and 
stretched  out  a  long  feeble  hand,  knotted  and  distorted 
with  rheumatism,  to  the  stranger. 

"  Glad  to  see  you — glad  to  see  you — and  so  will  my 
wife  be.  Lady  Damerel  is  an  American." 

"  Eh !  why  didn't  she  say  so  ? "  muttered  the  doctor ; 
and,  after  a  few  words  of  civil  conversation,  went  back 
to  the  drawing-room  and  watched  her  again.  She  sang 
no  more,  but  stood  talking,  or  rather  listening,  the  cen- 
tre of  a  group  of  talkers,  with  a  polite  absent  smile, 


166  KING  ARTHUR. 

melting  gradually  into  the  weary  dissatisfaction  which 
was  the  permanent  expression  of  her  face  whenever  she 
ceased  speaking. 

"  That  isn't  a  happy  woman,  or  a  good  woman,"  said 
the  doctor  to  Mrs.  Trevena. 

"  Perhaps  if  she  were  happy  she  might  be  good." 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  People  make  their  own  bed — 
nearly  always — and  as  they  make  it  they  have  to  lie 
upon  it.  What  a  life  she  must  have  led  that  poor  old 
fellow !  Is  she  his  second  wife,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  No.  He  once  told  my  husband  they  had  been  mar- 
ried over  thirty  years,  and  had  had  four  children — two 
boys  first,  and  then  two  girls — all  of  whom  are  dead. 
She  never  cared  for  them,  he  said ;  but  the  poor  old  man 
seemed  to  have  been  fond  of  his  children." 

"  I've  seen  her  before — I'm  certain  I  have,"  said  Dr. 
Franklin  meditatively,  as  he  leant  against  the  window 
outside ;  watching  everybody  and  everything,  but  him- 
self unobserved.  "  There,  she  has  taken  off  her  gloves. 
I  always  notice  hands ;  they  are  as  characteristic  as  faces. 
And  what  a  diamond  ring ! " 

The  Kentuckian  was  beginning  a  whistle — a  long, 
loud  whistle  of  intense  astonishment — but  stopped  him- 
self. 

"  Good  Lord !  Yes.  I  was  right.  I  have  seen  her 
before.  It's  the  very  woman." 

"  What  woman  ? "  asked  Susannah  innocently.  She 
had  drifted  away  from  the  subject,  and  become  absorbed 
in  weak  contemplation — of  her  boy,  of  course !  his  grace- 
ful figure,  his  happy,  handsome,  interested  face,  as  he 
stood  talking  to  the  tenor  singer.  In  looking  at  him  and 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  167 

thinking  of  his  future — how  soon  he  would  be  a  man — 
and  what  a  good,  clever,  noble  man  he  was  likely  to 
be — a  common  delusion  of  mothers!  she  had  entirely 
forgotten  Lady  Damerel. 

"  What  woman,  Mrs.  Trevena  ? "  echoed  Dr.  Franklin 
in  a  sharp  whisper.  ""Why — that  woman  at  Ander- 
matt." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THEEE  is  an  old  comedy  entitled  The  Wonder!  A 
Woman  keeps  a  Secret  !  Its  author  could  have  known 
very  little  of  human  nature.  How  many  secrets,  not 
always  their  own,  do  women  keep  every  day — out  of 
love,  or  a  sense  of  honor,  or  even  pure  pity !  What  won- 
derful strength  they  possess  in  hiding  what  they  wish  to 
hide  !  able  to  smile  with  a  breaking  heart — to  wrap  their 
robes  smoothly  and  even  gracefully  over  the  beast  that 
is  gnawing  their  vitals.  Men  may  be  very  good  at  con- 
cealment on  some  affairs — especially  their  own ;  but  for 
absolute  silence — years  long — life  long,  if  necessary — 
there  is,  in  spite  of  the  old  dramatist,  no  secret-keeper 
like  a  woman. 

When  Dr.  Franklin  made  the  discovery  of  "  the  woman 
at  Andermatt " — who,  by  the  bye,  must  have  kept  her 
secret  pretty  well — Mrs.  Trevena,  startled  as  she  was, 
had  strength  to  whisper  "Hush!" — for  her  husband 
was  close  behind  them,  and  Arthur  in  front:  and  the 
good  doctor  had  the  sense  to  take  the  hint,  and  also  to 
suggest  that  she  was  looking  tired,  and  they  had  better 
go  home. 

"  Make  my  excuses  to  Lady  Damerel.  She  won't 
miss  me  very  much,"  said  he  to  the  unconscious  rector, 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  169 

and,  tucking  Mrs.  Trevena  under  his  arm,  lie  walked 
away. 

Not  too  soon.  Susannah  tottered  blindly — almost 
without  speaking  a  word — along  the  path  which  led  to 
the  rectory.  But  as  soon  as  she  got  home  she  fainted 
outright. 

However,  it  was  too  serious  a  crisis  for  any  outward 
betrayal.  Dr.  Franklin  brought  her  to  herself  without 
telling  the  servants,  and  by  the  time  Mr.  Trevena  and 
Arthur  came  back,  he  and  she  had  talked  the  whole 
thing  calmly  over,  and  made  up  their  minds  to  keep  it 
at  present  entirely  between  their  two  selves. 

That  the  boy  was  Lady  DamerePs  son — her  legitimate 
son — was  more  than  possible — probable :  but  how  was 
this  to  be  proved?  Not  by  herself — she  dared  not. 
Having  concealed  his  birth  so  long — for  Sir  Charles,  in 
speaking  of  his  four  children,  was  evidently  quite  igno- 
rant that  he  had  had  a  fifth  child — to  confess  her  folly, 
or  wickedness,  to  the  world  and  her  husband,  would 
entail  an  amount  of  scandal  that  few  women  could  dare 
to  brave.  Born  in  wedlock  the  boy  undoubtedly  was ; 
but  what  wife's  fair  fame  could  come  out  quite  unspotted 
after  such  a  disclosure  ? 

"  To  run  away  from  her  husband — whether  or  not  she 
went  alone — to  hide  for  months  from  him — to  conceal 
her  baby's  birth  and  then  sell  it  for  twenty  pounds — 
Phew !  "  said  the  doctor  with  his  low,  long  whistle,  which 
meant  so  much.  "  You  are  quite  safe,  ma'am.  She'll 
never  own  her  son — she  dare  not." 

Susannah  looked  up.     She  had  at  first  been  utterly 

stunned — now  there  came  upon  her  a  sort  of  despair,  or 

8 


170  KING   ARTHUR. 

rather  desperation — the  blind  fury  which  poets  describe 
as  that  of  "  a  lioness  robbed  of  her  whelps." 

"  He  is  my  son — mine  !  No  one  has  any  right  to  him 
but  me." 

"  That's  true,"  answered  Dr.  Franklin  soothingly. 
"  And  I  doubt  if  Arthur  would  wish  to  have  any  mother 
but  you.  As  for  that  woman  there,  she  has  tied  up  her 
own  hands,  cut  her  own  throat,  as  one  may  say.  He'd 
never  care  twopence  for  her.  As  for  herself,  it  isn't  a 
son  she  wants,  it's  an  heir  to  the  baronetcy.  Let  her  be. 
It  serves  her  right." 

Such  were  the  good  doctor's  arguments.  Susannah's 
brain  whirled  so,  that  for  a  wonder  she  let  another  lead 
her,  and  did  not  attempt  to  think  out  the  question  for 
herself.  "When,  two  hours  after,  Arthur  came  in,  bright 
and  gay,  having  been  exceedingly  amused,  especially  by 
"that  dreadful  Lady  Damerel — who  is  one  big  sham 
from  top  to  toe — though  she  does  sing  so  splendidly  " — 
the  whole  thing  seemed  a  ghastly  nightmare,  out  of 
which  she  should  wake  soon  and  find  it  nothing. 

Yet  when  she  did  wake  next  morning — after  lying 
awake  half  the  night — ah !  well  she  understood  those 
pathetic  lines  : — 

"  The  tears  o'  my  heart  fa'  in  showers  frae  my  ee' 
While  my  gudeman  sleeps  soun'  by  me." 

— then,  Susannah  found  that  yesterday  had  been  not 
quite  nothing.  The  mental  agony,  the  perpetual  self- 
restraint  which  it  imposed,  were  so  hard  to  bear  that  she 
was  almost  relieved  when  Dr.  Franklin,  who  was  obliged 
to  leave  next  day,  proposed  taking  his  godson  with  him  ; 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  171 

and  Arthur,  with  a  boy's  natural  delight  at  the  idea  of 
seeing  London,  was  eager  to  go. 

"  But  not  if  you  want  me,  mother.  I'll  not  go  any- 
where, or  do  anything,  that  you  don't  wish." 

"  I  only  wish  what  is  for  your  good,  my  darling ! " 
She  had  of  late  given  up  all  pet  names,  knowing  how 
schoolboys  dislike  them ;  but  to-day  she  felt  he  was  her 
darling — the  very  core  of  her  heart,  and  the  delight  of 
her  eyes — in  whose  future  she  had  re-embarked  many  a 
ship-wrecked  hope,  many  a  broken  dream.  With  diffi- 
culty she  restrained  herself  from  falling  on  Arthur's  neck 
in  a  burst  of  bitter  tears. 

"  It  is  for  his  good,"  said  Dr.  Franklin,  with  emphasis, 
and  yet  with  a  compassionate  look  in  his  kind  eyes. 
"  Give  him  a  bit  of  pleasure  with  me,  and  then  let  him 
set  to  work.  It's  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  a  lad 
to  be  obliged  to  work.  Far  better  for  him  " — this  was 
said  with  meaning  and  djecision — "  far  better  than  if  he 
were  heir  to  a  title  and  several  thousands  a  year." 

"  Thank  you — God  bless  you ! "  murmured  Mrs. 
Trevena,  as  she  wrung  her  friend's  hand  at  parting; 
feeling  that  under  his  rough  speech  and  queer  un- 
English  ways  there  lay  hidden  a  heart  of  gold. 

After  a  while,  her  agony  of  apprehension,  her  feeling 
that  the  whole  world  was  slipping  away  from  under  her 
feet,  slowly  subsided.  Life  at  the  rectory  went  on  as 
usual — nothing  happened — nobody  came.  She  did  not 
see  Lady  Damerel  at  church,  for  Sir  Charles  had  caught 
cold  at  the  garden-party :  an  attack  of  rheumatism 
severer  than  ordinary  had  supervened ;  and  the  village 
heard,  with  little  interest,  that  he  and  "  my  lady  "  had 


172  KING   ARTHUR. 

gone  to  Bath  for  several  months.  Tawton  Abbas  was 
shut  up,  and  the  rector  and  his  wife  wandered  at  ease 
about  the  lovely  park — she  with  the  strangest  of  feel- 
ings, and  sometimes,  in  spite  of  what  Dr.  Franklin  had 
said,  with  a  doubt  whether  she  were  right  or  wrong  in 
accepting  the  position  of  things,  and  letting  all  drift  on 
in  silence,  as  heretofore. 

It  may  seem  almost  incredible,  even  in  this  simple- 
minded  and  unworldly  woman — but  the  last  thing  she 
thought  of  was  the  worldly  benefits — the  title  and  estate 
to  which  her  Arthur  might  be  the  lawful  heir.  Had  he 
been  proved  the  legitimate  son  of  worthy  parents,  she 
could  have  given  him  up,  she  thought,  though  it  broke 
her  heart — but  to  give  him  up  to  such  as  Lady  Dam- 
erel — never ! 

Better  that  he  should  begin  life  simply  as  an  adopted 
son — work  his  own  way  in  the  world,  and  win  a  name  for 
himself,  for  which  he  was  indebted  to  nobody.  Un- 
worthy parents  are  worse  than  none. 

Three  months  had  gone  by,  and  Arthur  was  just 
coming  home  for  Christmas,  after  having  worked  "like 
a  brick,"  he  wrote,  and  being  in  cheerful  hope  of  the 
scholarship — before  Mrs.  Trevena  found  herself  again 
face  to  face  with  the  woman  whom  she  believed  to  be 
her  boy's  mother. 

It  happened  in  this  wise — apparently  by  accident. 
Lady  Damerel  suddenly  appeared  at  church;  having 
come  to  Tawton  Abbas  for  three  days,  to  order  the  dis- 
tribution of  coals,  blankets,  and  Christmas  beef — she 
never  omitted  those  external  duties  by  which  many 
people  square  accounts  with  heaven,  and  keep  up  a  good 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  173 

character  on  earth.  Consequently  she  always  went  to 
church,  rain  or  fair — and  this  day  there  fell  a  heavy 
storm  of  December  rain.  The  rector  and  his  wife  found 
her  lingering  near  the  chancel  door. 

"  Will  you  give  me  shelter  for  a  few  minutes  ? "  she 
asked,  in  her  sweetest  and  most  condescending  manner ; 
and  Mr.  Trevena  courteously  escorted  her  under  his  um- 
brella to  the  rectory. 

She  had  seldom  been  there;  only  for  one  or  two 
formal  calls ;  but  now  she  sat  down  in  the  little  drawing- 
room  as  if  she  meant  friendliness  rather  than  formality. 
After  some  courteous  small-talk  about  Sir  Charles's  ill- 
ness, and  the  cause  of  it,  chiefly  directed  to  Mr.  Tre- 
vena— Lady  Damerel  was  always  charming  to  gentle- 
men— she  said  carelessly — 

"  You  went  away  from  my  garden-party  quite  early, 
Mrs.  Trevena,  before  I  had  time  to  speak  to  that  tall 

friend  of  yours — Mr. what  was  his  name  ?  An 

American,  did  you  say?  I  rather  like  Americans." 

Susannah  was  not  a  coward — her  husband  sometimes 
said  of  her,  with  his  tender  jesting,  that  she  "  would  go 
up  to  a  cannon's  mouth  " — if  necessary.  She  felt  some- 
thing like  it  now.  Looking  full  in  Lady  Damerel's  face, 
she  replied: 

"  He  is  not  Mr.  but  Dr.  Franklin,  a  countryman  of 
yours  (Sir  Charles  said  you  are  American) — and  a  phy- 
sician in  New  York." 

"Ah!  New  York.  But  I  am  Southern.  I  was  born 
in  Baltimore." 

"  He  said  you  reminded  him  of  the  Baltimore  belles," 
innocently  observed  the  rector.  "  He  thought  he  had 


174  KING   ARTHUR. 

met  you  somewhere.  He  is  an  excellent  man.  We  made 
acquaintance  with  him  long  ago,  when  traveling  abroad ; 
where  he  once  did  my  wife,  and  me  too,  what  has  turned 
out  to  be  a  great  service.  Our  son,  whom  of  course  you 
know  all  about,  is  his  godson." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  carelessly  answered  Lady  Damerel, 
with  the  air  of  a  person  not  much  interested  in  other 
people's  affairs.  "Has  your  friend  gone  back  to 
America  ? " 

"  He  sailed  yesterday — Arthur  went  to  Liverpool  to 
see  him  off." 

"  How  kind !  By  the  way,  that  son  of  yours — I  must 
secure  him  as  our  accompanist  next  time  I  have  musical 
people  in  the  house.  He  plays  extremely  well.  Is  he  to 
be  a  professional  ? " 

"  Oh  no  ! "  said  the  rector  with  something  more  than 
distaste.  "  He  is  trying  for  a  scholarship  at  New  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  which  his  Winchester  masters  think  he  is 
sure  to  get.  He  is  a  very  clever,  as  well  as  a  diligent 
boy." 

And  the  good,  unobservant,  unreticent,  Austin  went 
into  details  about  Arthur's  future  university  career, 
without  noticing  the  absent  smile  with  which  Lady 
Damerel  listened  ;  most  people  —  even  parents  —  are 
indifferent  enough  to  other  people's  children. 

"Ah,  yes — Mr.  Arthur's  success  must  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  his  father  and  mother.  My  children  were 
never  clever,  nor  handsome  either,  poor  little  things ! 
Your  son  is  your  only  one,  I  conclude  ?  Born  late  in 
life,  and  of  course  his  parents'  darling  ? " 

All  this  while  Susannah  had  sat  silently  observant — 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  175 

also,  not  a  little  amazed.  First,  at  the  extraordinary 
self-command  of  the  woman,  supposing  she  really  was 
the  woman  that  Dr.  Franklin  believed  her  to  be ;  and 
next,  that  she  should  be  so  ignorant  of  her  neighbors' 
affairs  as  never  to  have  heard  about  Arthur.  And  yet 
this  was  not  impossible.  In  eighteen  years  the  story  had 
died  out ;  people  had  accepted  him  so  completely  as  the 
rector's  son — at  least  in  the  village ;  and  beyond  it  the 
Trevenas  knew  almost  nobody.  With  a  sudden  desperate 
resolve  Susannah  determined  to  put  Lady  Damerel  to 
the  test — to  tell  her  the  facts,  which  she  must  hear  ere 
long,  and  which  it  was  astonishing  she  had  never  heard 
before.  "  Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil " — but  it 
was  equally  to  exorcise  the  devil — that  evil  spirit  which 
prompted  her,  the  gentle  Mrs.  Trevena,  to  fly  at  Lady 
Damerel's  throat  and  strangle  her. 

Looking  her  full  in  the  face  she  said  distinctly,  "I 
think  you  do  not  understand — though  it  is  surprising 
you  should  never  have  heard — that  Arthur  is  not  our 
own  son;  we  have  no  living  children.  Dr.  Franklin 
found  him  for  us,  and  advised  us  to  adopt  him.  "We  do 
not  know  who  were  his  parents,  but  he  was  born  at 
Andermatt,  in  Switzerland." 

Human  nature  cannot  altogether  suppress  itself. 
Whatever  Lady  Damerel  had  come  to  seek,  she  had 
evidently  found  something  she  neither  sought  nor  de- 
sired. Her  cheek  grew  ghastly  under  its  paint.  She 
clutched  the  arm  of  the  chair  as  if  to  save  herself  from 
falling.  Even  the  unobservant  Austin  could  not  help 
seeing  something  was  amiss,  and,  courteously  observing 
that  the  room  was  very  hot,  went  to  open  the  window. 


176  KING  AKTHUR. 

"  Thank  you — but  I  am  not  ill — only  fatigued — worn 
out  with  nursing  my  husband."  And  then,  turning 
round  to  Susannah  with  that  mechanical  smile  which 
people  learn  to  use  in  society  as  well  as  on  the  stage,  she 
said — "  It  is  kind  of  you  to  give  me  this  confidence.  I 
did  not  know  the  boy  was  not  your  own.  He  is — a  fine 
Jx>y — and  does  you  great  credit." 

And  again  that  ghastly  pallor — was  it  emotion  or  only 
fear? — came  over  her  face,  till  Mr.  Trevena  offered  to 
fetch  her  a  glass  of  wine,  and  looked  towards  his  wife  for 
sympathy  and  assistance. 

But  there  was  no  pity — not  a  jot! — in  Susannah's 
eyes,  or  in  her  hard,  cold  voice. 

"  Lady  Damerel  should  have  ordered  her  carriage.  I 
am  sorry  I  have  no  servant  here  to  send.  And  my  son 
is  not  at  home." 

"  My  son."  There  was  no  mistaking  the  word — or 
its  meaning — its  intentional  meaning.  Lady  Damerel 
removed  her  hand  from  her  eyes,  and  the  two  women 
steadily  regarded  one  another.  In  that  moment  both 
recognized,  without  need  of  words,  that  each  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  other's  secret,  and  that  between  them 
there  was  war  to  the  knife.  All  the  more  deadly  because 
it  was  a  silent  war — confined  entirely  to  their  two  selves. 
The  two  mothers  between  whom  King  Solomon  judged 
could  not  hate  one  another  with  a  more  deadly  hatred 
than  these — the  fiesh-and-blood  mother  who  had  thrown 
her  blessing  away ;  the  real  mother  who  had  found  it, 
and  kept  it — yes,  and  would  keep  it,  in  defiance  of  the 
whole  world. 

Susannah,  just  and  tender  woman  as  she  was,  could 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  177 

on  occasion  be  a  stern  woman  too.  She  had  no  belief 
in  parental  rights,  or  any  rights  at  all,  without  their 
corresponding  duties.  Years  ago  she  carried  off  little 
Nanny,  and  would  have  hidden  her  from  her  father, 
separated  them  entirely,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  until  the 
child  was  old  enough  not  to  be  harmed  by  the  man  to 
whom  she  owed  nothing  but  the  mere  accident  of 
paternity.  What  Mrs.  Trevena  then  did — and  wrould 
have  persisted  in  doing  had  not  fate  made  it  unnecessary 
—from  pure  pity,  without  any  personal  love  for  Nanny 
— would  she  not  be  ready  now  to  do  for  her  own 
Arthur  ? 

Had  Lady  Damerel  confessed  all,  and  begged  for  the 
boy — perhaps  even  then  Mrs.  Trevena  might  have  had 
no  mercy.  She  might  have  said,  with  Dr.  Franklin — 
"  As  you  made  your  bed  you  must  lie  on  it " — and 
dared  the  unworthy  mother  to  win  one  atom  of  either 
duty  or  affection  from  the  son  she  had  cast  away.  But 
if  any  struggle  as  to  the  right  course  was  in  Susannah's 
mind,  she  soon  saw  it  was  wholly  unnecessary. 

"  Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature,"  says  the 
philosopher ;  and  though  sometimes  experience  has  con- 
tradicted this — especially  in  the  case  of  mothers — it 
exists  still. 

After  a  minute  or  two  Lady  Damerel  rose,  her  usual 
stately  self,  and  addressed  the  rector. 

"  The  rain  has  abated  now,  and  I  must  not  trouble 
you  any  longer.  I  will  walk  home,  for  I  never  like  to 
use  the  carriage  on  Sundays,  except  for  Sir  Charles.  "We 
think  of  trying  the  German  spas  immediately — so  this 

must  be  a  farewell  visit.    Make  my  compliments  to  your 

8* 


178  KING  AKTHTTR. 

son — I  mean  your  adopted  son — and  say  I  congratulate 
him  and  his  parents." 

Evidently  the  so-called  maternal  instinct  was  not  in 
the  woman.  Whether  from  conscious  guilt  or  cowardice, 
she  had  apparently  not  the  slightest  intention  of  acknowl- 
edging her  child.  A  few  words  of  polite  adieu,  and  she 
had  made  her  escape,  having  betrayed  absolutely  nothing. 

Susannah  was  thankful  that  she  too  had  betrayed 
nothing — that  she  had  had  strength  all  these  months  to 
bear  her  own  burden  and  trouble  no  one.  The  crisis 
had  come,  and  passed.  Now  she  could  breathe  again. 

Many  more  weeks  and  months  went  by:  and  un- 
troubled peace.  Arthur  was  at  Winchester — Sir  Charles 
and  Lady  Damerel  were  traveling  abroad.  Nothing  had 
happened:  and  she  began  to  feel  that  nothing  would 
happen:  that  she  might  live  and  die — dying  did  not 
seem  so  far  off  at  nearly  sixty — with  her  secret  unre- 
vealed,  keeping  Arthur  as  her  son  till  death. 

He  seemed  more  than  ever  her  son,  when  coming  back 
for  summer  holidays — triumphant  too,  for  he  had  gained 
his  scholarship,  and  was  going  up  to  Oxford  next  term 
— he  found  his  "  dear  little  mother "  a  good  deal 
changed.  Her  pretty  brown  hair  had  grown  silver- 
white  ;  her  bright  cheerfulness — the  gayety  of  sound 
pure  health,  though  she  was  never  robust — had  greatly 
departed.  He  could  not  understand  it.  She  said  she 
was  "  quite  well  " — "  quite  happy  " — but  she  seemed  so 
quiet,  so  suddenly  changed  from  a  middle-aged  into  an 
old  woman.  He  wondered  nobody  saw  it — not  even 
her  husband. 

"Papa,"   he   said,    "I  think   mother  wants   a  little 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  179 

nursing  and  companionship.  "When  I  am  gone  to 
Oxford,  suppose  you  send  for  Nanny  ?  Let  her  come  a 
day  or  two  before  I  leave,  and  I'll  teach  her  how  to  take 
care  of  mother ;  only  she  is  such  a  child  still — perhaps 
she  might  not  understand." 

But  in  spite  of  Arthur's  gentle  patronizing,  and  firm 
conviction  that  nobody  could  take  care  of  his  mother 
except  himself — it  was  found  that  Nanny  did  under- 
stand ;  that  Miss  Grogan  had  made  a  little  woman  of  her 
already,  and  a  capital  nurse.  Neat,  accurate,  practical : 
chary  of  words,  but  prompt  in  deeds ;  and  doing  every- 
thing necessary  without  making  any  unnecessary  fuss 
about  it,  Nanny,  though  at  first  not  exactly  welcome  to 
her  aunt,  soon  became  so,  as  well  as  to  her  uncle.  And 
though  still  small,  dark,  and  plain,  there  was  a  sweet- 
ness in  her  brown  eyes,  a  fairy  lightness  in  her  dainty 
figure,  which  made  her  decidedly  not  ugly.  Youth  never 
is  ugly,  unless  it  has  got  an  ugly  soul. 

"  She's  not  so  bad,  is  she,  mother  ? "  said  Arthur,  after 
the  first  two  days.  "  She  isn't  a  beauty  certainly — she 
doesn't  sweep  about  the  room  like  Lady  Damerel ;  but  I 
hate  tall  women ! — No  woman  should  ever  be  bigger 
than  my  little  mother.  Nanny  will  never  be  pretty — 
like  you — but  she's  a  nice  little  thing." 

What  mother  could  resist  such  tender  flattery  from  a 
big  son,  not  twenty  yet,  but  fully  six  feet  high  ?  What 
mother  could  look  into  that  boyish  face — knowing  the 
heart  was  as  innocent  as  the  face — and  not  feel  that 
whatever  he  said  was  true,  and  whatever  he  did  was 
right  ? 

As  for  the  "nice  little  thing  " — was  it  surprising  that 
M 


180  KING   AKTHUR. 

she  adored  Arthur?  as  she  had  done  ever  since  she  was 
a  small  child ;  though  she  had  ceased  to  show  it  now — 
at  least,  not  very  much — but  Mrs.  Trevena  saw  it  in  her 
eyes,  and  sometimes  felt  a  little  sorry  for  Nanny.  Still, 
the  child  was  only  a  child  ;  and  Arthur  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  take  much  notice  of  her — such  a  man  as  he 
was  grown — and  just  going  up  to  Oxford.  Nor  did  he 
notice  her  at  first ;  being  absorbed  by  his  matriculation 
work. 

But  all  young  creatures  like  one  another's  company : 
and  when  of  summer  evenings  "  the  children  "  went  off 
a  walk  together,  leaving  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena  sitting 
quietly  in  the  arbor,  Susannah  said  to  herself  that  it 
was  quite  natural. 

She  herself  could  not  take  long  walks  now — nor  could 
she  see  to  read  and  sew  as  she  once  did.  She  had  made 
over  her  work-box  to  the  busy  useful  fingers  of  Nanny. 
And  instead  of  reading  of  evenings,  she  sat  with  her 
hands  folded,  and  thought — we  often  like  thinking  as  we 
grow  old.  Only  it  is  not  of  ourselves  we  think ;  our  day 
is  all  done — it  is  of  other  people. 

Strange  it  was — and  yet  perhaps  not  strange — that  the 
last  subject  which  entered  Mrs.  Trevena's  mind  should 
have  been  that  which  was  most  probable,  most  natural ; 
the  story  even  now  beginning  to  act  itself  out  under  her 
very  eyes.  The  old  story,  ever  new,  and  which  will  be 
new  until  the  end  of  the  world. 

She  had  enacted  it  herself  more  than  forty  years  ago, 
for  she  was  very  young  when  she  first  met  Austin  Tre- 
vena ;  and  yet  it  never  struck  her  to  think  of  her  boy 
as  anything  but  a  boy,  or  of  Nanny  except  his  small 


NOT    A   LOVE    STORY.  181 

girl-satellite — circling  round  him  with  untiring  and  per- 
fectly natural  devotion,  but  of  no  importance  to  him 
whatever.  That  one  was  nearly  a  man,  and  the  other — 
alas ! — perhaps  quite  a  woman,  did  not  occur  to  Susan- 
nah. 

Nor,  for  a  good  while,  to  the  young  people  themselves. 
Their  relations  from  childhood  upwards  had  been  com- 
pletely "  Vun  qui  aime,  Vautre  que  se  laisse  etre  aime"- 
rather  liked  it  indeed,  in  an  innocent  way,  for  Arthur 
was  neither  selfish  nor  conceited.  He  had  never  had  a 
sister,  and  honestly  accepted  Nanny  as  such :  teased  her, 
petted  her,  and  took  counsel  of  her  by  turns  :  ruled  her, 
yet  was  led  by  her — for  the  little  quiet  girl  had  a  strong 
will  of  her  own ;  and  the  winning  power  that  many 
plain-looking  but  sweet-natured  woman  have,  even  over 
the  other  sex.  And  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  suspected 
that  he  was  gradually  slipping  into  what  worldly  mothers 
would  call  an  "  entanglement " — but  of  which  the  knots 
are  often  woven  by  a  kindly  Providence  to  be  a  man's 
protection  throughout  life.  Especially  such  an  one  as 
Arthur,  who,  out  of  his  very  simplicity,  affectionateness, 
and  lack  of  personal  vanity,  was  likely  to  attract  every 
woman  he  came  near. 

It  was  not  an  ordinary  "  falling  in  love  " — that  head- 
long tumble  which  parents  and  guardians  so  dread :  but 
a  gradual  gliding  into  love  ;  love  awaking  so  early  that 
the  young  people  understood  neither  its  nature  nor  its 
name.  For  instance,  the  caress  begun  when,  the  child's 
poor  mother  lying  dead  in  the  next  room,  Susannah  had 
said,  "  Arthur,  kiss  Nanny/' — was  continued  quite  nat- 
urally, at  meetings  and  partings,  until  the  very  day  that 


182  KING   ARTHUR. 

Arthur  left  for  Oxford ;  when  his  mother  noticed,  with 
some  momentary  surprise,  that  they  merely  shook  hands. 
But  she  soon  forgot  it — her  own  heart  was  so  full.  And 
when  the  little  Nanny,  who  found  her  wandering  for- 
lornly about  the  empty  house — so  very  empty  now  Ar- 
thur was  gone — took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena  embraced  her  with  a  burst  of  feeling,  as  being  the 
one  other  person  who  missed  Arthur  nearly  as  much  as 
his  mother  did. 

Shortly  afterwards,  Nanny  was  summoned  back  to 
Miss  Grogan,  who  was  seriously  ill,  and  needed  her 
sorely.  Both  her  uncle  and  aunt  missed  her  too — a 
good  deal.  Likewise  at  Christmas,  when  she  had  prom- 
ised to  return,  but  did  not,  and  the  rectory  household 
had  to  make  the  best  of  the  busy  time  without  her.  Mr. 
Trevena  distributed  his  coals  and  blankets  alone ;  and 
Arthur  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  deserted  park — for 
the  Damerels  were  still  away.  Both  father  and  son 
openly  lamented  Nanny,  who  was  "  so  funny,"  and  "  so 
useful,"  to  which  the  mother,  shut  helplessly  indoors, 
agreed  with  a  sympathizing  smile,  hiding  a  silent  pain 
that  she  could  be  no  longer  all  they  required,  to  either 
husband  or  son.  But  it  soon  passed — they  were  both 
well  and  strong  and  happy — and  they  loved  her  so  much 
that  as  long  as  she  sat,  even  with  folded  hands,  at  the 
fireside,  they  were  sure  to  think  it  bright. 

After  Christmas  came  a  sudden  event,  ominous  of 
changes — Miss  Grogan  died.  Nanny  was  left — as  she 
said  in  her  sorrowful  letter — "  alone  in  the  world." 
But,  as  she  also  said,  she  meant  to  face  the  world,  and 
trouble  nobody.  She  had  had  a  good  education — thanks 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  183 

to  her  uncle,  and  her  dear  dead  friend ;  and  through  all 
her  grief  there  ran  a  thread  of  cheerful  courage  which 
touched  everybody's  heart. 

"  Nanny  is  sure  to  do  well,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  affec- 
tionately. "  Shall  we  have  her  here  for  a  while  ? " 

"  I  wish  we  could  have  her  here  for  always,"  answered 
the  rector. 

But,  to  the  surprise  of  both,  Nanny  refused  their  kind- 
ness— very  gratefully,  yet  very  firmly.  She  wished  to 
begin  to  work  at  once.  Nothing  would  induce  her,  she 
said,  to  eat  the  bread  of  idleness.  She  intended  to  go 
out  as  a  governess  immediately. 

"  Impossible ! "  said  her  uncle,  thinking  of  her  as  the 
last  of  the  Trevenas.  "  Impossible,"  wrote  Arthur  from 
Oxford,  assigning  no  reason.  And  "  impossible ! "  added, 
gravely,  Mrs.  Trevena,  who  knew  what  governess-life  is 
to  a  girl  of  eighteen. 

But  fate — in  the  shape  of  Mr.  Hardy — Arthur's  High 
Church  friend,  stepped  in  and  settled  the  difficulty.  He 
had  a  widowed  sister  come  to  live  with  him,  who  would 
be  most  thankful  to  get  a  daily  governess  for  her  only 
girl.  "  If  Miss  Trevena  would  condescend,"  he  said. 
"  At  least  so  far  as  to  come  on  a  visit  to  the  rectory,  and 
try  it  for  the  summer."  Miss  Trevena,  being  humble- 
minded,  and  strongly  urged  by  both  uncle  and  aunt,  did 
condescend — and  came. 

She  looked  so  sweet,  with  her  pale  face  and  her  deep 
mourning,  that  all  the  curate's  family  fell  in  love  with 
her  at  once ;  and  when  Arthur  came  home  for  his  Easter 
vacation  he  found  her  quite  settled :  living  at  the  rec- 
tory, and  walking  across  the  park  every  day  to  her  work. 


184  KING   ARTHUR. 

It,  and  what  she  laughingly  called  her  "  parish  duties  " — 
as  her  aunt's  substitute — absorbed  her  so  much  that,  as 
Arthur  openly  complained,  he  saw  almost  nothing  of 
her,  and  was  left  "  out  in  the  cold."  At  which  his 
mother  so  compassionated  him  that  she  took  every  op- 
portunity of  sending  him  and  Nanny  for  an  evening 
walk  together ;  rejoicing  to  see  them  come  back  merry 
and  happy.  Their  youthful  happiness  was  the  greatest 
bliss  she  knew.  It  helped  her  to  bear  her  own  feeble- 
ness and  weariness :  that  shadow  of  fast-advancing  old 
age — which  had  come  all  the  faster  since  the  blow  of  last 
year. 

Do  what  she  would,  she  could  not  escape  a  perpetual 
fear  of  "  something  happening  " — some  effort  on  Lady 
Damerel's  part  to  reclaim  her  son  ;  or  worse,  some  dis- 
covery which  might  make  Arthur's  birth  not  the  safe 
mystery  that  it  now  was,  but  an  open  disgrace  that 
might  wound  him  to  the  quick — if  a  man  ought  to  be 
wounded  by  anything  in  which  he  himself  is  entirely  in- 
nocent. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  divine,  or  at  least  to  guess  at, 
Lady  Damerel's  history.  The  beautiful  "  public  "  woman 
— half  a  pariah — as  it  was  then  thought,  though  now, 
thank  heaven,  many  a  public  and  professional  woman 
leads  as  domestic  a  life  as  any  private  matron  who 
"  suckles  fools  and  chronicles  small-beer  " — married  early 
to  a  poor  gentleman  ;  resenting  and  hating  the  restraints 
of  home ;  heartless,  pleasure-loving,  though  not  actually 
vicious ;  incapable  of  love,  but  too  selfish  to  degrade 
herself;  a  "  woman  of  genius,"  possibly,  but  with  an  un- 
womanly heart ;  detesting  children,  and  the  burden  of 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  185 

them  ;  disliking  dullness  and  poverty,  and  ready  always 
to  act  on  impulse  rather  than  judgment — it  was  easy  to 
see  how  all  had  come  about. 

Not  so  easy  to  see  how  all  would  end,  or  how  it  ought 
to  end.  Sometimes  Susannah  thought  and  thought,  till 
she  was  half  dazed — she  had  come  to  the  time  when  one 
must  think,  for  one  can  do  little  else;  and  all  one's 
thoughts  are  for  others — one's  own  future  is  of  no  interest 
now :  but  her  thoughts  all  came  to  nothing,  for  she  could 
do  nothing.  Also  Dr.  Franklin,  whose  wife  had  burnt 
the  important  letter,  wrote  advising  her  to  do  nothing 
till  he  came  back  to  England  next  year. 

So  she  drifted  on,  nor  noticed  how  other  things  and 
people  were  drifting  on  too,  unto  a  future  over  which 
she  had  no  jurisdiction  and  no  claim. 

That  year  spring  came  in  early,  deliciously ; .  the 
tempting  spring,  when 

"  A  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love," 

and  even  old  men — at  any  rate  old  women — turn  half 
tenderly  to  memories  of  what  love  was,  or  might  have 
been — when  the  sight  of  a  face,  the  touch  of  a  hand, 
brought  unutterable,  impossible  bliss.  Even  the  rector 
and  his  wife,  sitting  in  their  lovely  garden,  with  trees 
budding,  primroses  blooming,  and  thrushes  singing — felt 
the  nameless  charm,  and  kept  their  silver  wedding-day 
in  tender  content:  Susannah  telling  the  "children," 
with  a  sweet  faint  blush  on  her  old  cheek,  how  she  and 
papa  had  met  when  quite  young,  and  had  made  a  solemn 
vow  among  some  gooseberry  bushes — eating  gooseberries 
plentifully  meantime — that  they  would  certainly  be 


186  KING  ARTHUR. 

married  some  day ;  which  vow,  after  half  a  lifetime,  they 
kept.  But  she  never  noticed — nobody  noticed — that  at 
her  innocent  little  story  Nanny  turned  very  pale,  and 
Arthur  very  red ;  and  they  scarcely  spoke  to  one  another 
for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

It  was  a  rather  momentous  day,  for  both  inward  home 
pleasure  and  outside  news.  Mr.  Hardy  appeared,  in 
much  excitement.  His  grateful  bishop  had  that  day 
rewarded  his  long  service  by  an  unexpected  living ;  and 
though  now  nigh  upon  forty,  the  good  curate  was  as 
happy  as  a  boy.  His  vicarage  was  only  a  few  miles  off, 
so  he  would  not  lose  his  friends  at  the  rectory ;  though, 
Mrs.  Trevena  suggested,  Nanny  would  lose  her  pupil. 
To  which,  in  some  confusion,  Mr.  Hardy  answered  that 
"  he  was  not  sure." 

Something  constrained  in  his  manner — and  Nanny's 
too — startled  Mrs.  Trevena  into  remembering  how  very 
often  he  had  been  at  the  rectory  of  late,  and  how  con- 
tinually he  had  walked  home  with  Nanny  across  the 
park.  She  smiled  to  herself,  not  ill-pleased,  for  Mr. 
Hardy  was  an  old  friend  and  an  excellent  man,  young 
and  cheerful  for  his  age.  And  Nanny,  though  so  much 
his  junior,  was  such  a  grave,  steady,  reliable  little  thing 
— just  the  girl  for  a  country  clergyman's  wife.  She 
wondered  she  had  never  thought  of  this  before — and, 
woman-like,  was  thinking  it  over  with  unmixed  satisfac- 
tion, when  a  name  caught  her  ear — the  name  which, 
now  she  had  grown  weak  and  nervous,  always  seemed  to 
go  through  her  like  a  knife. 

"  Have  you  seen  Lady  Damerel,  Arthur  ?  I  met  her 
driving,  and  she  asked  me  how  all  was  going  on  at  the 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  187 

rectory,  and  if  you  and  I  would  come  and  have  an 
evening  of  music — quite  quietly — they  have  brought  no 
company  down  with  them.  I  hear  Sir  Charles  has 
broken  down  very  much,  and  cannot  live  long.  Poor 
Lady  Damerel ! " 

"Poor  Lady  Damerel,  indeed  !  "  echoed  Mr.  Trevena. 
"What  a  change  for  her!  And  they  say  she  hates  the 
heir-at-law — a  needy  man  with  seven  children.  What  a 
pity  Lady  Damerel  has  none ! " 

Mr.  Hardy  agreed,  and  again  asked  Arthur  to  come, 
as  "  her  ladyship  " — he  always  spoke  with  much  awe  of 
her  ladyship — had  said  she  especially  wished  for  him,  on 
account  of  his  music. 

"  I  won't  go,"  said  Arthur  decidedly.  "  I  don't  care 
for  Lady  Damerel,  though  she  does  sing  so  well.  And 
why  doesn't  she  invite  my  mother?  Pll  not  go  to  Taw- 
ton  Abbas,  or  anywhere,  without  my  little  mother," 
added  he  caressingly. 

"  But  your  mother  is  not  able  to  go,  and  I  think  you 
ought,"  said  the  rector,  who,  like  most  men,  was  not 
indifferent  to  the  charming  flattery  of  Lady  Damerel. 

Arthur  looked  at  his  mother. 

"Yes,  go,"  she  answered — for  a  sudden  desperation 
had  seized  her.  Her  boy  should  see  with  his  own  eyes, 
and  judge  with  his  own  heart,  between  his  natural,  un- 
natural mother,  and  the  woman  who  had  been  to  him 
everything  that  a  mother  ought  to  be.  "  Go,"  she  said, 
knotting  her  trembling  hands  together,  and  hoping  that 
no  one  noticed  in  her  the  slightest  hesitation  or  pain. 

So  it  came  about  that  during  his  Easter  vacation 
Arthur  went  several  times  to  Tawton  Abbas,  which, 


188  KING    ARTHUR. 

notwithstanding  Sir  Charles's  critical  state,  was  full  of 
company — Lady  Damerel  would  not  live  without  it; 
company  among  whom  a  young  Oxford  man  who  was 
handsome  and  ready-witted,  could  play  and  sing,  act  and 
dance,  with  equal  facility  and  enjoyment,  was  most  val- 
uable— and  valued.  Arther  declared  it  was  "  capital 
fun,"  and  took  all  his  "  spoiling "  with  the  most  frank 
unconcern,  coming  home  and  joking  about  it  to  his 
mother  and  Nanny.  Between  the  Arcadian  life  of  morn- 
ings with  Nanny,  and  the  fashionable  life  of  evenings,  or 
rather  nights — for  he  generally  came  back  from  Tawton 
Abbas  when  all  the  rectory  had  gone  to  bed — the  young 
fellow  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  enjoying  himself — till 
one  day. 

Mr.  Hardy,  after  a  long  walk  with  Arthur,  an  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Trevena  in  the  study,  and  another  with 
Mrs.  Trevena  in  the  garden,  formally  made  an  offer  of 
marriage  to  Miss  Trevena;  he  did  it  in  the  properest, 
most  orthodox  way — indeed  the  good  man's  wooing 
seemed  like  a  bit  out  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  only  that 
he  proved  to  be  not  the  "man  of  men"  to  his  Miss 
Byron. 

Exceedingly  agitated,  more  so  than  her  aunt  expected 
or  could  account  for,  the  "  little  girl,"  now  advanced  to 
the  dignity  of  a  woman,  declared  she  had  never  given 
the  slightest  encouragement  to  her  suitor,  and  would 
certainly  not  marry  him.  To  all  arguments  from  Mrs. 
Trevena,  and  a  few  very  lame  ones  from  Arthur — whom ' 
Mr.  Hardy  had  made  his  confidant,  and  implored  to  use 
his  brotherly  influence — Nanny  answered,  pale  as  death, 
but  with  firm  composure,  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  189 

not  to  marry  anybody,  and  did  not  wish  another  word 
said  on  the  subject. 

So,  within  a  few  hours,  the  thunder-storm  came,  broke, 
and  passed  away :  but  it  left  a  troubled  atmosphere  in 
the  happy  family.  The  rector  could  not  get  over  his 
startled  perplexity  at  finding  his  little  niece  a  woman, 
and  Mrs.  Trevena  knew  enough  of  the  cares  of  gov- 
erness-ship to  regret  that  Nanny  should  not  escape  from 
them  into  the  blessed  haven  of  domestic  life.  To  her 
Mr.  Hardy  seemed  very  lovable ;  but  evidently  Nanny 
did  not  love  him — and  this  wise  foolish  old  woman, 
who  still  believed  in  love,  had  not  another  word  to  say. 

The  storm  had  passed,  but  it  left  its  traces  behind. 
Nanny  looked  dull  and  sad,  and  Arthur,  who  for  some 
reason  or  other  did  not  "go  up "  for  a  few  days  after 
term  began,  was  not  himself  at  all. 

"  Is  anything  vexing  you,  my  boy  ?  "  asked  his  mother 
one  night  when  he  came  in  from  his  usual  evening  en- 
tertainment at  Tawton  Abbas.  He  tried  to  put  her  off 
— scolding  her  for  sitting  up,  and  declaring  it  was  because 
she  knew  how  pretty  she  looked  in  her  dressing-gown 
and  her  picturesque  night-cap.  But  she  saw  something 
was  amiss,  and  at  last,  taking  his  candle  out  of  his  hand, 
and  making  him  sit  down  beside  her,  she  found  it  out. 

"  That  Lady  Damerel  is  an  odd  woman — a  very  odd 
woman,"  he  said.  "What  do  you  think  she  wants  me  to 
do  ?  To  give  up  my  quiet  life  at  Oxford — I'm  obliged  to 
be  a  reading  man,  you  know,  or  else  I  couldn't  make  ends 
meet — and  go  in  for  a  regular  jolly  life.  And  she'd  give 
me  three  hundred  a  year  to  do  it  with.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  an  offer  ?  from  a  complete  stranger  too." 


190  KING  ARTHUR. 

"  And  you  answered  ? " 

"  I  said  I  was  much,  obliged,  of  course,  but  that  I  had 
no  idea  of  being  a  pensioner  on  any  one's  bounty.  I 
meant  to  stand  on  my  own  feet  and  earn  my  own  living 
as  soon  as  ever  I  could." 

"  And  she  ? " 

c  c  Oh  !  she  took  it  coolly  enough — as  she  does  every- 
thing; said  I  might  please  myself,  but  I  had  better 
think  it  over — only  I  must  speak  to  no  one  about  it. 
6  Except  my  mother,'  I  said,  and  then  she  laughed — 
Lady  Damerel  has  the  most  unpleasant  laugh  I  ever 
heard.  I  can't  like  her  for  all  her  kindness,  and  I  won't 
try.  And  so  I  won't  accept  anything  from  her — not  a 
thing,"  added  Arthur  decidedly.  "  Don't  you  think  I 
am  right,  mother  ? " 

"  Yes,"  Susannah  said  beneath  her  breath.  She  was 
clutching  her  boy's  hand — carressing  it  and  patting  it,  as 
she  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  baby. 

"  I  can't  imagine  why  she  should  make  such  a  fuss 
over  me.  It's  bothering — it's  humiliating.  Can  she  do 
it  out  of  compassion  ?  or  impertinent  patronizing  from  a 

grand  lady  to Mother,"  he  added  abruptly,  "  do 

you  think  Lady  Damerel  knows  who  I  am  1     I  mean — 
does  she  know  I  have  no  right  to  the  name  I  bear  ? " 

"Everybody  knows  everything,  my  darling,"  said 
Susannah.  "  It  was  the  only  right,  safe,  and  honorable 
way.  Everybody  recognizes  you  as  our  dear  adopted 
son,  who  will  be  a  credit  to  our  name,  and  make  a  name 
for  himself  besides — as  a  brave  man  can." 

'•  And  I  will.  But,  mother,  sometimes — it's  rather 
hard." 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  191 

Susannah  did  not  deny.  She  knew,  to  the  very  bot- 
tom of  her  soul,  that  it  was  hard. 

"  If  I  were  a  girl  now,  it  wouldn't  matter.  King 
Cophetua  may  woo  the  beggar-maid;  and  if  she  is  a 
queenly  maid,  and  deserves  him,  it's  all  right — nobody 
asks  any  questions.  Poor  old  Hardy  asked  none  about 
Nanny.  She  might  never  have  had  a  father  or  a  mother 
for  all  he  cared.  He  loved  her  for  herself.  And  he  was 
sure  of  himself — that  he  could  offer  her  a  good  income 
and  an  honest  name,  and  creditable  relations.  Now,  if 
I  were  to  ask  a  girl  to  marry  me — not  that  I'm  going  to, 
without  one  halfpenny  to  rub  upon  another — but  if  I 
were — and  her  father  put  the  plain  question,  '  Who  are 
you  ? '  what  should  I  say  ?  It's  funny,  mother ! — but 
you  must  allow  it's  a  little  hard." 

He  laughed — not  without  bitterness — the  bitterness 
that  she  had  long  foreseen  must  come,  and  wondered  it 
had  not  come  sooner.  How  could  she  help  him  ?  By 
telling  him  the  truth,  which  might  be  crueller  than 
ignorance  ?  And  besides,  she  herself  did  not  absolutely 
know  the  truth — she  only  guessed  at  it.  If  she  could 
have  proved  it,  and  thereby  given  her  son  name,  fortune, 
every  possible  worldly  prosperity,  no  matter  though  she 
robbed  herself  of  all  the  joy  of  her  life — still  Susannah 
was  the  kind  of  a  woman  to  ha\7e  done  this. 

Not  now.  It  might  be  that  Arthur's  finding  out  the 
truth  would  take  from  him  what  he  had,  and  give  him 
nothing  in  return — leave  him  worse  than  nameless, 
worse  than  parentless.  She  looked  up  at  him  as  he 
stood  there — pale  with  a  deeper  emotion  than  she  had 
ever  yet  seen  in  him,  but  young,  strong,  resolute, 


192  KING   ARTHUR. 

able  to  take  his  destiny  in  his  own  hands  and  carve 
out  his  own  future — the  best  thing  that  can  happen  to 
any  young  man. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  it  is  hard — in  some  ways ;  but 
if  I  were  you  I  would  not  be  afraid.  What  does  your 
favorite  poet  say  ? 

1  For  mm  is  man  and  master  of  his  fate.' 

So  are  you.  And  sometimes,"  she  spoke  bitterly,  re- 
membering old  days,  "  it  is  almost  a  blessing  to  have  no 
relations." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  papa  and  his  brother — Nanny's 
father — whom  I  hated.  He  was  so  cruel  to  Nanny." 

"  Yes,  but  we  have  forgotten  that  now.  Nanny  has 
not  a  bit  of  her  father  in  her,  except  his  name.  She  is 
upright,  honest,  independent — sure  to  do  well  in  the 
world.  And  so  will  you." 

Arthur's  eyes  brightened.     "  I  will  try." 

"  And  remember,  my  boy — every  one  has  something 
to  fight  with — some  evil  fate  to  master.  I  mastered 
mine,  and  God  gave  me  you.  My  dear,  isn't  it  worth  a 
little  to  you  that  He  also  gave  you  your  mother  ? " 

She  held  out  her  arms  to  him  ;  and,  big  fellow  as  he 
was,  the  boy  knelt  down,  laid  his  head  on  her  lap,  and 
wept  like  a  child. 

That  night  Susannah  made  up  her  mind.  Come  what 
might,  she  would  be  resolved;  she  would  find  out  the 
whole  truth.  Her  son  should  not  be  lured  from  her  by 
temptations  of  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  If 
he  went,  he  should  go  open-eyed — choosing  deliberately 
between  her  and  Lady  Damerel;  the  simple,  pure, 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  193 

righteous  life  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up,  and  the 
shallow  worldly  life  they  led  at  Tawton  Abbas. 

So,  next  day,  when  the  rector  and  Nanny  had  gone  on 
their  parish  rounds  together,  and  Arthur  was  amissing 
somewhere — he  was  often  amissing  now  ;  being  restless, 
unhappy,  weary  of  his  own  company,  and  other  people's 
too — Mrs.  Trevena  gathered  up  all  her  feeble  strength, 
and  set  out  to  walk  alone  across  the  park  to  the  great 
house.  A  short  stroll,  yet  she  had  not  done  so  much  for 
many  months.  But  the  more  fast-increasing  she  felt  her 
weakness,  the  more  she  was  determined  to  conquer  it, 
and  to  work  while  it  was  day. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning ;  the  sky  bright  with  floating 
white  clouds,  the  trees  in  the  park  already  growing 
green.  What  a  beautiful  park  it  was !  For  nearly 
twenty  years  she  had  watched  it,  budding  with  spring, 
deepening  into  the  full  verdure  of  summer ;  then  melt- 
ing to  the  glowing  tints  of  autumn,  and  the  scarcely  less 
lovely  whiteness  of  winter.  How  she  had  admired  and 
enjoyed  it!  much  more,  probably,  than  its  successive 
tenants  had  done.  Infinitely  more,  alas  !  than  its  owner, 
poor  Sir  Charles !  whom  she  saw  coming  towards  her 
down  the  path  in  his  Bath-chair.  At  first  she  thought 
she  would  avoid  him :  and  then — no ! 

Sir  Charles  was  such  a  permanent  invalid,  such  an 
unconsidered  nothing  in  the  Damerel  establishment,  that 
Mrs.  Trevena  had  rarely  spoken  to  him.  The  chair,  with 
its  melancholy  occupant  and  the  tall  footman  lounging 
beside  it,  was  passing  her  by,  when  she  stopped  it — half 
ashamed  of  herself  to  think  that  it  was  not  for  pity  she 
did  so.  She  addressed  the  old  man  courteously  and 


194  KING   ARTHUR. 

kindly,  but  vainly  she  tried  to  get  a  coherent  word  from 
him.  He  was  evidently  paralyzed,  for  his  speech  was 
thick,  and  his  face  expressionless.  His  hands,  distorted 
with  rheumatism,  lay  helpless  in  his  lap — yet  he  must 
have  been  a  handsome  man  once.  He  had  sweet  soft 
eyes,  blue  even  yet — as  blue  as  Arthurs ;  and  the  clear- 
cut  aquiline  features  of  the  Damerels — "  a  nose  as  big  as 
mine,"  she  remembered  Arthur  had  once  said.  Yes, 
withered  and  old  as  it  was,  the  face  was  Arthur's  face — 
the  smile  was  Arthur's  smile.  Nature  had  avenged  her- 
self upon  the  careless  wife,  the  unthankful  mother,  with 
circumstantial  evidence  stronger  than  any  words.  Mrs. 
Trevena  saw — and  wondered  she  had  never  seen  it 
before — that  if  Sir  Charles  Damerel  and  Arthur  were 
set  side  by  side,  no  one  could  doubt  that  the  boy  was  his 
father's  son. 

Well,  it  wTas  good  to  be  assured — whatever  might 
happen;  also  with  a  sad  pity  that  removed  all  con- 
science-stings as  to  any  claim  of  the  father  on  the  son, 
she  felt  that  this  poor  dead-alive  wreck  of  humanity  was 
long  past  being  affected,  for  good  or  ill,  by  anything  that 
did  happen.  To  find  a  son  would  be  to  Sir  Charles  now 
neither  joy  nor  pain.  It  was  Lady  Damerel  only  with 
whom  Mrs.  Trevena  had  to  do  battle ;  and  would  do  it, 
putting  herself  and  her  feelings  entirely  aside — as  she 
had  had  to  do  all  her  life ;  a  curious  contrast  to  that 
other  woman,  to  whom  self  had  been  first  object  always. 

It  was  so  still,  to  judge  by  the  luxury  of  the  morning- 
room,  into  which  Mrs.  Trevena  was  shown.  All  looked 
couleur  de  rose,  down  to  the  very  hangings,  which  were 
so  placed  as  to  throw  a  becoming  glow  on  the  faded  face 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  195 

of  the  passee  beauty  who  was  afraid  to  be  old.  Susan- 
nah, catching  sight  of  herself  in  the  numerous  mirrors, 
and  conscious  of  her  trembling  limbs  and  beating  heart, 
knew  that  she  was  old — no  doubt  about  that  now  !  But 
she  grieved  not,  feared  not.  All  the  more  reason  that 
she  should  do  what  she  had  to  do,  without  delay. 

What  was  there  to  do  ?  Nothing,  it  seemed,  by  the 
easy  condescending  smile  with  which  the  great  lady  re- 
ceived the  rector's  wife,  and  the  pleasure  she  expressed  at 
Mrs.  Trevena's  being  able  to  walk  so  far,  for  a  mere  call. 

"It  is  not  a  mere  call.     I  wanted  to  speak  to  you." 

Lady  Damerel  started  an  instant — and  then  resumed 
her  polite  smile  of  attention. 

"  I  am  sure  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  or  for  our  ex- 
cellent rector " 

"  Thank  you — my  husband  and  I  want  nothing.  But 
you  have  offered  to  do  something  for  my  son,  which  he 
cannot  accept — which  I  do  not  wish  him  to  accept." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  it  is  unseemly,  and  humiliating,  for  a  young 
man  to  receive  a  large  annual  income  from  the  bounty 
of — a  stranger." 

Lady  Damerel  put  her  fan  before  her  face,  with  an  air 
as  nonchalant  as  it  was  graceful ;  scarcely  to  hide  emo- 
tion :  there  seemed  none  to  hide. 

"  I  hope  that  Arthur" — she  saw  Mrs.  Trevena  wince — 
"  I  beg  his  pardon,  Mr.  Arthur,  does  not  consider  me 
quite  a  stranger.  I  like  the  young  man ;  he  is  useful 
and  pleasant  to  me — who  have  no  children  of  my  own. 
If  I  wish  to  help  him  why  should  you  hesitate  to  accept 
my  offer?" 
N 


196  KING   AETHUR. 

"  I  do  not  hesitate,"  said  Susannah  ;  "  I  absolutely 
refuse.  While  I  live,  my  son  shall  never  be  indebted 
for  a  halfpenny  to  any  one  but  his  mother." 

"  I  thought  you  told  me  you  were  not  his  own 
mother  3  " 

"  I  am  not.     Are  you?" 

The  question  was  so  sudden  —  so  direct  —  delivered 
with  the  intensity  almost  of  a  blow,  struck  as  it  were  for 
dear  life  —  that  it  fell  upon  Lady  Damerel  like  a  blow. 
She  sprang  up  in  her  chair. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  say  this  —  what  proofs  can 
you  give  ?  —  Mrs.  Trevena,  how  dare  you  -  ?  " 

"  I  dare  do  anything,  if  it  is  for  my  son's  sake,  my 
boy,  whom  I  took  as  a  little  baby  —  whom  I  have 
brought  up  —  who  has  been  all  in  all  to  me  these  twenty 
years  —  the  best  son  that  ever  mother  had.  How  dare 
you  come  between  me  and  him  ?  How  can  you,  if,  as  I 
believe,  you  are  the  woman  that  deserted  him,  sold  him, 
think  to  buy  him  back  again  with  your  miserable 
money  ?  How  dare  you,  I  say  ?  " 

As  Susannah  spoke,  the  passion  of  her  voice  startled 
even  herself.  But  it  met  no  response,  either  of  fear  or 
anger. 

Lady  Damerel  sat  down  again  with  a  slight  laugh. 

This  is  —  an  amusing  fiction.     But  even  if  it  were  the 


"  It  is  the  truth,  and  you  know  it.  And  you  know 
that  Dr.  Franklin  knows  it  too.  He  will  be  coming 
back  to  England  shortly  ;  he  and  I  between  us  can  prove 
everything  —  everything.  And  we  will  do  it." 

Lady  Damerel  smiled  still  ;  but  in  somewhat  ghastly 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  197 

fashion.  "  That  would  be  unwise,  Mrs.  Trevena.  You 
would  lose  your  son,  and  I  should  not  gain  mine.  One 
question — does  he — the  boy — know  it  too  ? " 

"  He  does  not.  If  he  did,  how  he  would  despise 
you!" 

There  was  no  attempt  at  disguise  now.  The  two 
women  sat  looking  at  one  another — open  enemies ; 
tiger-like,  each  ready  for  the  next  spring.  But  both 
were  very  quiet ;  the  one  through  fear,  the  other  from 
speechless  contempt.  What  would  have  happened 
next — who  can  tell  ? — but  for  one  of  those  coincidences 
which  occur  sometimes,  in  a  way  so  natural  that  we  call 
it  providential.  As  Susannah  did,  to  the  end  of  her 
days. 

The  door  opened,  and  Arthur  walked  in. 

"  I  hope  I  am  punctual,  Lady  Damerel.  You  told 
me  to  come  at  eleven.  What  ? " — seeing  Mrs.  Trevena — 
"  Oh  mother,  how  wrong  of  you  to  come  alone !  How 
tired  you  look  !  Sit  down — sit  down." 

And  he  stood  beside  her,  with  his  hand  laid  caress- 
ingly on  her  shoulder,  and  his  eyes  full  of  anxiety.  He 
had  evidently  no  thought  of  anybody  but  his  mother. 
Then,  with  the  intuition  of  love,  he  saw  that  something 
was  the  matter ;  and,  with  his  usual  frankness,  faced  it 
at  once. 

"  I  conclude,  Lady  Damerel,  you  know  already  what  I 
came  to  tell  you — that  my  mother  would  rather  I  did 
riot  accept  your  kindness.  I  agree  with  her.  I  wish  to 
make  my  own  way  in  'the  world,  owing  nothing  to  any- 
body— except  my  mother." 

Was  it  a  lingering  touch  of  human  nature — maternal 


198  KING   ARTHUR. 

jealousy  if  not  maternal  tenderness — that  made  Lady 
Damerel's  lip  quiver  as  she  looked  at  the  handsome, 
graceful  youth,  and  the  little  old  woman  over  whom  he 
leant  so  affectionately. 

"  Your  adopted  mother,  you  mean.  But  decide  as 
you  choose.  I  hope  you  may  not  live  to  regret  it." 

Arthur  flushed  painfully.  "  Since  you  know  the 
truth  about  my  birth,  Lady  Damerel,  you  will  allow 
that  I  am  right,  not  only  in  loving,  but  in  obeying  my 
mother." 

As  Susannah  clung  to  her  boy's  hand — the  strong 
young  hand  which  enfolded  hers  (and  here  again  Nature 
had  asserted  herself,  for  it  was  the  very  image  of  Lady 
Damerel's) — a  sudden  revulsion  came  over  her.  She 
felt  compelled  by  that  sense  of  absolute  right,  quite  irre- 
spective of  worldly  wisdom  or  personal  feeling,  that 
stern  law — "  Fais  ce  que  tu  dois,  advienne  que  pourra ! " 
which  strengthens  some  people — women  especially — to 
do  by  impulse  that  which  in  cold  blood  they  would  per- 
haps have  shrunk  from  doing. 

"  Thank  you,  my  own  good  boy ! "  she  said,  with  a 
sob.  "  You  know  how  I  have  loved  you.  But  I  am 
not  your  mother.  Your  real  mother — the  woman  who 
bore  you — is — that  woman  there ! " 

Arthur  sprang  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  "  She  my 
mother!  the  mother  who  deserted  me — sold  me? — oh 
no,  mother  darling  !  it  can't  be  true — it  isn't  true  !  " 

"  It  is  true.     She  does  not  deny  it.     Look  at  her." 

Lady  Damerel  sat  bolt  upright  in  her  chair — as  white 
and  as  hard  as  marble.  Arthur  took  one  step  towards 
her,  and  then  drew  back. 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  199 

"Thank  you,  mother,  for  telling  me.  I  am  glad  I 
know  this.  It  was  right  I  should  be  told." 

"  I  did  not  wish  him  to  be  told.  No  good  can  come 
of  it,  for  his  father  never  knew  of  his  existence.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  help  him — with  the  half  of  my  fortune  if  he 
wishes — after  Sir  Charles's  death.  But  I  never  can 
acknowledge  him  publicly.  It  would  ruin  me." 

Lady  Damerel  spoke  in  a  slow,  cold,  impersonal  voice, 
never  looking  at  her  sou.  Nor  did  her  son  look  at  her. 
Rather  he  turned  away  his  eyes,  as  if  the  mere  sight  of 
her  were  painful  to  him.  At  last  he  said,  very  quietly 
— and  with  a  strange  absence  of  emotion  which  made 
him  for  the  moment  almost  resemble  her — 

"  You  need  not  fear :  I  shall  never  intrude  upon  you. 
I  think  it  would  almost  kill  me  to  have  to  do  my  duty 
to  you  as  your  son.  Good-morning,  Lady  Damerel. 
Come,  mother,  let  us  go  home." 

He  placed  Mrs.  Trevena's  hand  within  his  arm,  and, 
with  a  distant,  stately  bow — a  bow  worthy  of  the  heir  of 
all  the  Damerels — he  quitted  without  another  word 
"  the  woman  that  bore  him " — who  had  been  to  him 
merely  that  and  nothing  more. 

Lady  Damerel  sat,  in  her  unshared  splendor,  childless 
and  alone.  Her  sin  had  found  her  out.  It  was  a  just 
and  a  righteous  retribution. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

FOE  several  days  after  Arthur  discovered  the  truth 
about  his  parentage,  he  and  his  "  mother  "  never  spoke 
on  the  subject.  He  had  whispered  to  her  on  their  way 
home  from  Tawton  Abbas — "  Please  don't  say  a  word  to 
me — I  can't  bear  it " — and  indeed  she  was  utterly  unable 
to  say  a  word.  The  long  strain  being  ended,  a  reac- 
tion came.  Ere  nightfall  she  was  so  ill  that  Arthur 
silently  put  off  his  departure  for  Oxford ;  and  for  many 
days  neither  he  nor  any  one  at  the  rectory  thought  of 
aught  but  her — the  centre  of  all  their  love  and  care. 

When  she  revived,  she  found  that  Arthur  had  told 
both  the  rector  and  !N"anny  what  had  happened — the  bare 
fact — no  more — "  to  save  mother  the  pain  of  telling  it " 
— but  that  he  had  requested  of  them  total  silence  on  the 
subject,  since  this  discovery  "  made  no  difference  in  any- 
thing." 

He  repeated  the  same  to  herself  in  the  few  words  that 
passed  between  them  before  he  started  for  Oxford  :  she 
had  thought  it  right  to  speak,  and  explain  to  him  that 
even  though  he  were  the  lawful  heir  of  Tawton  Abbas, 
unless  Lady  Damerel  acknowledged  this,  it  would  be 
most  difficult  to  prove  his  rights. 

"It  does  not  matter,  mother,"  he  said  calmly.     "I 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  201 

have  thought  it  all  over,  and  perhaps  "Tis  better  as  it 
is J — as  your  friend  Shakspere  says.  I  will  make  my  own 
way  in  the  world,  and  be  indebted  to  nobody.  Except 
you — except  you  !  " 

He  stooped  and  kissed  the  silver  hair — whiter  even 
within  the  last  few  weeks.  Then,  holding  his  head 
high,  though  he  too  looked  older  and  graver — much,  he 
bade  her  and  them  all  a  cheerful  good-bye,  and  went  back 
to  his  work. 

From  that  time  Arthur's  letters  came  regularly,  even 
more  regularly  than  usual.  But  they  were  only  to  his 
mother — not  to  Nanny,  who  had  once  shared  them.  And 
they  were  wholly  about  his  work — or  his  play,  for  he  was 
equally  good  at  both ;  as  noted  on  the  river  as  he  was  in 
the  schools.  But  he  never  in  the  least  alluded  to  what 
had  occurred,  or  implied  that  he  himself  was  in  any  way 
different  from  the  Arthur  Trevena  who  had  been  the  Tre- 
venas'  only  son,  dearly  beloved,  for  the  last  twenty  years. 

And  Lady  Damerel  made  no  sign.  She  still  stayed  on 
at  Tawton  Abbas — which,  it  was  clear,  poor  Sir  Charles 
was  never  likely  to  leave  again ;  but  she  filled  it  with 
company,  as  usual,  and  lived  her  usual  lively  life  there. 
Her  sole  appearance  in  the  village  was  at  church,  where 
she  sat,  erect  as  ever,  in  her  arm-chair ;  her  cold,  hand- 
some, painted  face,  under  the  thin  gauze  veil  which  she 
always  wore,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  background 
of  marble  monuments — the  old  Damerels  to  whom  her 
husband  would  soon  be  gathered.  Sir  Charles,  it  wa£ 
rumored,  would  be  the  last  of  the  name,  though  not  of 
the  race ;  for  the  next  heir  being  by  the  female  line,  the 

baronetcy  would  become  extinct.     Though  she  was  little 
9* 


202  KING    ARTHUR. 

known,  and  less  liked,  one  or  two  of  the  more  thoughtful 
of  the  congregation,  looking  at  her,  and  recognizing 
what  a  downcome  must  follow  her  husband's  death, 
sometimes  said — "  Poor  Lady  Damerel ! " 

Not  Mrs.  Trevena.  Under  all  her  gentleness  Susan- 
nah could,  if  need  required,  be  as  hard  as  stone,  and  as 
silent.  She  never,  in  or  out  of  the  house,  except  upon 
compulsion,  mentioned  the  name  of  Lady  Damerel.  She 
rose  up  from  her  illness,  and  went  about  her  duties  as 
heretofore — not  even  allowing  Nanny  to  share  them  ; 
Nanny,  who  still  lived  at  the  rectory,  nominally,  but  was 
rarely  at  home,  having  obtained  teaching  in  a  neighbor- 
ing town.  She  was  cheerfully  earning  her  honest  bread, 
and  evidently  making  up  her  mind  to  do  this  all  her 
days,  as  if  there  had  been  no  such  person  as  Mr.  Hardy 
in  existence.  She  worked  hard,  poor  little  thing ! — as 
her  aunt  had  done  before  her ;  and  her  aunt  appreciated 
this,  as  well  as  the  tenderness  which  made  Nanny, 
whenever  she  was  at  home,  as  good  as  any  daughter. 

But  Susannah  did  not  want  a  daughter.  All  her  heart 
was  bound  up  in  her  son ;  and  it  was  a  great  pang  to 
her,  even  though  she  acknowledged  it  might  be  "  all  for 
the  best " — when  Arthur  announced  his  intention  of 
spending  the  long  vacation  with  a  reading  party  in 
"Wales.  He  could  afford  it,  having  earned  some  extra 
money  by  accidental  "coaching."  It  was  good  for  his 
health,  his  mother  argued  to  herself;  and  would  be  more 
cheerful  to  him  than  home — which  he  must  find  rather 
dull  now  he  was  a  grown-up  young  man.  So  she  said 
to  Nanny,  who  listened  and  said  nothing;  Nanny  never 
did  speak  much  at  any  time. 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  203 

Therefore  it  befell  that  for  a  whole  year  Arthur  ap- 
peared at  the  rectory  only  on  very  short  visits ;  between 
terms,  or  after  having  passed  successfully  all  his  exam- 
inations. He  would  never  "  set  the  Thames  on  fire  " — as 
he  one  day  bade  Nanny  impress  upon  his  mother ;  but 
he  had  no  fears  of  failing  in  his  university  career.  Indeed 
he  hoped  to  get  through  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  secure 
afterwards  his  daily  bread,  at  least,  probably  as  an  Ox- 
ford "  coach."  Of  music,  or  the  musical  career,  he  now 
never  spoke  a  word. 

Indeed,  in  many  ways  the  boy  was  much  changed — 
a  boy  no  longer,  but  a  man.  In  one  thing,  however, 
there  was  no  change,  but  rather  a  growth — his  tender 
devotion  to  his  mother.  Ay,  even  though  life,  which 
with  him  was  pouring  on  towards  flood-tide,  with  her 
was  at  its  quiet  ebb.  Though  she  could  not  share  in  his 
pleasures,  could  never  be  to  him  the  sympathetic  com- 
panion that  young  and  active  mothers  often  are  to  their 
boys — and  a  lovely  sight  it  is  ! — still,  to  see  Arthur  with 
his  little  old  mother,  as  careful  as  a  girl,  as  devoted  as  a 
lover,  as  tender  as  a  son — was  also  a  sight  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

Lady  Damerel  never  saw  it — nor  they  her.  Once, 
when  walking  in  the  park,  they  came  across  Sir  Charles's 
wheeled  chair ;  Arthur,  taking  off  his  hat,  stood  aside  to 
let  it  pass,  with  its  melancholy  occupant,  behind  whom 
walked  the  valet,  or  keeper,  always  his  sole  companion. 

"It  is  no  use  speaking  to  Sir  Charles;  he  doesn't 
know  anybody  now,"  said  the  servant  carelessly ;  and 
they  walked  on.  But,  in  the  blank  white  face  of  the  old 
man,  and  the  strongly-marked  profile  of  the  young  one, 


204  KING   AKTHUB. 

Susannah  saw  again  that  unmistakable  likeness — fate's 
confirmatory  evidence  against  the  cruel  bar-sinister 
which  the  world  would  be  sure  to  impute  to  a  deserted 
child.  And  though  to  judge  a  man  by  this,  to  lay  to  his 
charge  his  parents'  sin,  is  wholly  unjust  and  unchristian  ; 
still,  since  the  world  is  neither  christianized  nor  just,  it 
will  be  always  so. 

She  watched  her  boy  as  he  walked  on  beside  her,  with 
a  grave  fixed  look  on  his  face,  but  showing  no  other 
emotion. 

"  Sir  Charles  will  not  live  long,"  she  said,  "  and  no- 
body could  wish  it." 

"  !Nb ;  but  I  am  glad  to  remember  he  was  always  kind 
to  me." 

This  was  all.  Intercourse  between  Tawton  Abbas 
and  the  rectory  had  now  stopped  entirely.  The  rector 
wished  it  to  be  so.  Austin  Trevena  did  not  often  take 
the  law  into  his  own  hands.  His  own  instincts  had 
been  so  pure,  and  his  life  so  blameless,  that  he  did  not 
understand  sinners,  and  was  apt  to  be  only  too  lenient 
to  them.  But  in  this  case  he  was  very  firm. 

"  The  church-door  is  open  to  any  one,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  cannot  refuse  her  the  sacrament,  for  I  know  nothing 
against  her  moral  character — but  there  it  ends.  I  hope, 
Susannah,  that  Lady  Damerel  will  never  darken  our 
doors  again." 

She  did  not.  For  a  whole  year  no  trouble  entered  those 
quiet  doors ;  where  old  age  was  now  beginning  to  claim 
its  Sabbath  of  peace,  which  ought  to  be  so  welcome  and 
so  blessed.  For  what  energetic  action  is  to  youth,  so  is 
mere  rest  to  declining  years.  After  sixty — sometimes, 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.         .  205 

alas !  before  then — we  learn  to  say,  "  There  is  no  joy 
but  calm  ;  " — and  to  be  thankful  for  it  if  we  get  it. 

So,  when  month  after  month  slid  by,  and  nothing 
happened,  nothing  broke  the  monotony  of  the  peaceful 
household,  except  Arthur's  flying  visits,  and  his  con- 
stant, comfortable  letters — Susannah's  worn  face  gradu- 
ally recovered  its  look  of  sweet  content,  justifying  her 
boy  in  telling  her,  as  he  did  sometimes,  that  she  was 
"  the  prettiest  old  lady  that  ever  was  seen."  Or  would 
be,  one  day — for  he  refused  to  allow  that  she  was  "  old  " 
yet ;  and  often  proposed  the  most  unheard-of  feats  for 
her  in  the  way  of  picnics,  and  other  expeditions  with 
himself  and  Nanny.  At  which  she  smilingly  shook  her 
head,  and  sent  "  the  children  "  away  by  themselves. 

Arthur,  come  home  now  for  the  long  vacation,  seemed 
again  his  merry  boyish  self.  He  had  got  triumphantly 
through  his  "  schools  " — and  seemed  determined  to  enjoy 
himself.  He  went  singing  about  the  house  as  when  he 
was  ten  years  old ;  though  now  just  past  one-and-twenty ; 
he  walked,  he  fished,  he  bicycled ;  he  "  tramped "  the 
parish  for  the  rector,  and  visited  the  old  women  with 
Nanny,  who  was  also  at  home  for  her  holidays. 

Nanny  had  changed  very  little  within  the  last  few 
years.  She  was  still  the  same  plain  little  thing,  except 
for  her  great  dark  eyes,  and  her  exceedingly  sweet-toned 
voice — a  pleasant  voice  is  better  to  live  with  than  even 
a  pretty  face.  But  she  had  an  atmosphere  of  prettiness 
about  her  too — exceeding  neatness  of  dress,  and  grace 
of  movement ;  so  that,  though  not  a  beauty,  she  could 
never  be  called  decidedly  ugly.  Some  day,  perhaps, 
some  other  man — probably,  her  aunt  thought,  an  elderly 


206  KING    ARTHUR. 

man — might  find  in  her  the  same  nameless  charm  that 
Mr.  Hardy  had  done.  Poor  Mr.  Hardy  !  He  still  came 
to  the  rectory  sometimes,  but  he  never  said  a  word  more  to 
Miss  Trevena.  Once,  when  talking  to  Arthur  about  the 
future  of  "  poor  little  Nanny,"  his  mother  suggested  that 
perhaps  she  might  be  an  old  maid  after  all.  At  which 
the  boy  laughed — which  Susannah  thought  rather  un-  - 
brotherly  and  unkind — but  he  made  her  no  answer 
whatever. 

It  was  August,  and  he  had  been  two  weeks  at  home ; 
going  about  everywhere,  except  in  the  direction  of 
Tawton  Abbas.  It  was  emptied  of  guests  at  last,  they 
heard  ;  for  Sir  Charles  was  slowly  dying.  Lady  Dam- 
erel  seldom  appeared  at  church  now ;  but  one  day  a 
stranger  gentleman  was  seen  there,  in  the  Damerel  pew. 
He  was  stout,  pompous,  and  common-looking.  Report 
said  he  wras  the  heir,  come  to  pay  a  duty  visit,  and  inves- 
tigate the  state  of  affairs ;  which  made  the  village  talk 
him  over  rather  curiously,  and  say  again — "  Poor  Lady 
Damerel!" 

But  nobody  ever  said  "  Poor  Mrs.  Trevena  1 "  There 
was  little  need.  Though  feeble  and  elderly  now,  she 
looked  so  content  and  at  rest — so  proud  even,  when 
walking  into  church  on  her  tall  son's  arm — that  no  one 
would  ever  have  thought  of  pitying  her.  Nor  did  she 
pity  herself.  Her  life's  storms  seemed  to  have  sunk  into 
peace.  Her  boy  knew  everything  about  himself;  and 
yet  was  satisfied  to  be  still  her  boy.  Accounts  reached 
her  on  all  sides  of  his  well-doing  at  Oxford  ;  where,  his 
university  curriculum  being  gone  through,  a  fellowship, 
and  possibly  a  tutorship,  were  almost  sure  to  follow; 


NOT  A   LOVE    STORY.  207 

one  of  the  many  proofs  that  a  boy  with  a  fair  amount  of 
brains,  and  the  determination  to  use  them,  can  make  his 
way  in  the  world  without  any  extraneous  help,  either  of 
friends  or  fortune — if  he  so  choose.  "  Where  there's  a 
will  there's  a  way,"  Arthur  used  to  say,  as  a  boy;  and 
as  a  man  he  bade  fair  to  carry  out  his  creed. 

His  mother  thought  of  him  now  with  that  restfulness 
of  perfect  trust,  not  so  much  in  his  fortunes  as  in  him- 
self— a  safer  stronghold — which,  God  help  them !  not  all 
mothers  have,  or  deserve  to  have.  But  He  had  given 
her  that  blessing,  and  she  was  thankful.  No  doubt, 
Arthur  was  not  quite  as  perfect  as  she  thought  him ;  but 
he  was  a  very  good  fellow,  and  a  favorite  with  every- 
body— including  all  the  young  ladies  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. For  he  and  Nanny  together  had  gradually 
brought  young  life  about  the  rectory ;  where  there  were 
occasionally  garden-parties,  lawn-tennis  meetings,  and 
such-like  mild  country  amusements.  Susannah  shared 
them,  and  was  amused  by  them ;  sometimes  speculating 
upon  how  much  her  boy  was  admired,  and  wandering 
who  would  fall  in  love  with  him ;  and  who,  in  some  far 
future  day,  he  would  fall  in  love  with  himself,  and 
marry.  She  would  be  very  fond  of  his  wife,  she  thought ; 
and  oh !  it  would  be  delightful  to  see  his  children. 

"  Only  fancy !  me  a  grandmother !  "  she  thought,  and 
laughed  to  herself  at  the  oddness  of  the  idea. 

She  was  sitting,  after  one  of  these  parties,  in  the  warm 
August  darkness,  lit  with  stars,  and  fragrant  with  deli- 
cious scents.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock;  Arthur  and 
Nanny  had  walked  a  little  way  down  the  road  with  their 
friends,  and  the  rector  was  in  his  study.  Susannah  sat 


208  KING  AKTHTJR. 

in  the  summer-house,  all  alone.  But  she  did  not  mind 
solitude ;  she  rather  enjoyed  it.  She  liked  to  sit  and 
think — as  now;  for  the  scent  of  clematis  and  jasmine 
always  brought  back  the  August  nights  of  her  youth — 
when  Austin  came  back  from  Oxford,  and  they  used  to 
walk  in  his  father's  garden  together  for  hours.  Then, 
life  was  all  before  them;  now  it  was  behind.  What 
matter?  It  had  not  been  all  she  expected;  a  ship  or 
two  had  gone  down,  but  much  had  been  saved — enough 
to  make  the  old  scents  always  sweet  to  her,  and  the  old 
days  dear. 

She  was  looking  back  upon  them,  dreamily ;  and  for- 
ward, into  the  days  to  come — not  so  many  now ! — when 
she  heard  steps  upon  the  gravel,  and  there  passed  two 
figures — a  man  and  a  girl.  She  thought  at  first  it  was 
her  house-maid,  who  she  knew  had  a  "lad" — for  the 
man's  arm  was  round  the  girl's  waist,  and  she  was 
sobbing  on  his  shoulder ;  which  kept  Mrs.  Trevena  from 
speaking  to  them.  Shortly  they  passed  again,  and  then, 
to  her  utter  bewilderment,  she  saw  it  was  Arthur  and 
Nanny — whom  she  still  sometimes  called — "the  chil- 
dren." 

She  was  so  accustomed  to  think  of  them  as  such,  that 
at  first  her  only  feeling  was  a  slight  vexation  that  Nanny 
should  be  "  bothering  "  Arthur  with  her  troubles.  She 
had  heard  him  say,  "  Don't  cry,  poor  little  Nanny — 
please  don't."  But  Nanny  was  a  little  too  old  to  be 
soothed  and  caressed  like  a  baby,  and  should  be  careful 
as  to  how  such  caresses  looked  outside — Arthur  not 
being  her  real  brother.  As  to  anything  else,  Mrs. 
Trevena  dismissed  the  idea  as  simply  ridiculous.  Her 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  209 

Arthur — such  a  fine  young  fellow,  everybody's  favorite ; 
and  Nanny — such  an  ordinary  little  creature — whom  he 
had  played  with,  petted,  tyrannized  over  all  his  life — for 
them  to  be  anything  but  brother  and  sister  was  perfect 
nonsense  !  She  would  not  speak  to  Arthur,  or  put  such 
a  notion  into  his  head ;  but  she  would  speak  to  Nanny, 
who  was  a  sensible  girl,  and  would  understand. 

However,  when  she  went  in-doors,  she  found  Nanny 
had  gone  to  bed ;  "  very  tired,"  Arthur  explained  ;  and 
that  he  himself,  after  supper  and  prayers,  was  evidently 
waiting  for  a  talk  with  his  mother — as  he  often  did  of 
Saturday  nights  when  the  rector  was  busy  over  his 
sermon. 

"  I  have  rather  a  serious  word  or  two  to  say  to  you, 
mother  darling,"  he  whispered,  as  he  took  her  hand  and 
sat  down  beside  her. 

"Not  very  serious,"  smiled  she — for  his  eyes  were 
shining  and  his  manner  cheerful  and  happy,  though  a 
trifle  nervous.  At  which  she  hardly  wondered,  when  he 
came  out  suddenly  with  a  startling  idea. 

"  Mother,  I  want  to  leave  you  for  a  little.  I  am  think- 
ing of  going  to  Switzerland — to  Andermatt." 

"To  Andermatt?  "Why?  Oh,  my  boy,  what  good 
would  it  do?" 

Arthur  soothed  her  momentary  distress — he  had  un- 
limited power  of  soothing  his  mother ;  and  then  told  her 
that  in  consequence  of  a  letter  from  his  godfather,  "  and 
for  other  reasons,"  he  had  lately  thought  it  advisable  to 
tell  his  whole  history  to  a  friend  he  had,  the  son  of  an 
eminent  London  barrister  —  who  had  taken  counsel's 
opinion.  This  was,  that  if  he  ever  meant  to  claim  the 


210  KING   ARTHUR. 

estate  and  the  baronetcy,  lie  ought  immediately  to  take 
steps  to  obtain  what  is  called  "perpetuation  of  testi- 
mony," that  is,  the  affidavits  of  all  those  witnesses  who 
could  prove  his  birth  and  his  identity ;  which  evidence 
could  be  laid  up,  and  would  be  sufficient,  in  case  of  the 
death  of  any  of  them  before  the  time  came  for  the  heir 
to  assert  his  rights. 

a  I  will  never  do  this  in  Sir  Charles's  lifetime ;  but 
afterwards,  I  may,  if  I  can  afford  the  money.  One's 
birthright  is  one's  birthright,  and  wrorth  fighting  for. 
No  man  could  be  expected  not  to  fight,  if  he  has  the 
right  on  his  side,  both  for  his  own  sake  and  those  belong- 
ing to  him." 

"  But  that  is  only  papa  and  me ;  and  we  would  rather 
keep  you  as  our  son  than  have  you  the  heir  of  all  the 
Damerels." 

~No  sooner  had  she  said  this  than  she  felt  how  selfish 
it  was,  and  how  natural,  how  right,  that  Arthur  should 
feel  as  he  did,  and  should  have  done  what  he  had  done 
— as  any  young  man  would  have  done — though  it  hurt 
her  a  little  that  he  had  done  it  without  consulting  her. 
But  he  was  so  tender,  so  thoughtful,  and  withal  so  pru- 
dent, that  the  feeling  soon  passed.  If  her  son  did  what 
was  right  and  wise,  it  mattered  little  whether  he  did  it 
with  her  or  without  her. 

So  they  went  into  the  details  of  his  proposed  journey 
with  their  usual  mutual  confidence.  He  had  saved 
enough  to  defray  all  expenses,  he  thought,  if  he  traveled 
very  economically  ;  and  when  she  offered  him  money, 
he  refused  it.  He  preferred  being  "  on  his  own  hook." 

"  You  see,  I  am  not  doing  badly,  mother,  for  a  fellow 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  211 

of  twenty-one.  It's  odd — but  I  am  really  twenty-one 
now.  I  could  be  sued  for  my  own  debts — or  for  breach 
of  promise,  if  I  had  asked  any  one  to  marry  me." 

He  said  this  with  a  laugh  and  a  blush — but  also  with 
an  anxious  look  out  of  the  corners  of  his  bright  honest 
eyes.  His  mother  laughed  too,  in  unsuspicious  content. 

"  All  in  good  time,  my  dear.  I  hope  you  will  marry 
some  day,  when  you  find  anybody  you  care  for — which 
you  have  not  found  yet,  you  know." 

Arthur  looked  grave  and  answered,  very  gently,  "  I 
am  not  sure." 

A  sudden  wild  apprehension  flitted  across  the  mother's 
mind.  Could  her  boy  have  fallen  in  love  ?  The  girls 
of  the  neighborhood — she  counted  them  over  swift  as 
thought.  Not  one  seemed  possible,  probable,  or  desira- 
ble. "  Arthur  ? "  she  cried,  in  an  almost  agonized 
question. 

Arthur  hung  his  head  a  little.  "  Yes,  mother,  it's 
quite  true.  I  did  really  ask  her — this  evening.  I  think 
I  must  have  loved  her  all  my  life — though  I  didn't  find 
it  out  till  Mr.  Hardy  wanted  her,  and  couldn't  get  her." 

"  Nanny !  Oh  Arthur,  it  isn't  surely  Nanny !  Im- 
possible ! " 

"  Why  impossible? "  said  Arthur,  drawing  himself  up. 

"  Such  a "  "  such  a  plain  little  thing,"  the  mother 

was  going  to  say,  but  stopped  herself—"  a  different  kind 
of  person  from  you.  And  she  has  been  your  cousin — 
almost  your  sister — ever  since  you  were  children  to- 
gether." 

u  But  she  is  not  my  cousin,  and  not  my  sister,  and  I 
don't  want  her  as  either.     I  want  her  for  my  wife." 
O 


212  KING   ARTHUR. 

The  young  man — he  was  a  man  now — spoke  firmly 
the  strange  new  word.  It  went  through  his  mother  like 
a  shaft  of  steel — yet  she  had  the  sense  not  to  show  it. 

"  You  asked  Nanny,  you  say,  this  evening  ?  And  she 
answered " 

"  She  would  not  give  me  any  answer  at  all  till  I 
had  told  you — and  her  uncle.  But  I  think,  indeed  I 

know "  And  Arthur  lifted  his  head  prouder  than 

ever — with  the  honest  pride  of  a  young  man  who  knows 
that  the  girl  he  loves  loves  him.  "  She  is  such  a  good 
girl,"  he  added.  "  Nobody  in  the  world  could  ever  say 
a  word  against  my  little  Nanny." 

"Jfy"  little  Nanny!  the  sense  of  possession — the 
passionate  protection  of  his  own  against  all  the  world — 
it  touched  the  mother  in  spite  of  herself.  So  many 
lovers  are  such  cowards — so  ardent  to  seize,  so  feeble  to 
defend.  Here  was  the  true  chivalric  lover,  who,  it  was 
clear,  meant  to  hold  to  his  "  little  Nanny  "  through  thick 
and  thin. 

What  could  Susannah  say  ?  It  was  the  very  kind  of 
love  she  most  admired — the  ideal  of  faithful  tenderness 
which  she  herself  had  taught  him ;  though  it  broke  her 
heart  she  could  not  but  respect  it.  And  yet — and  yet — 

Arthur  saw  her  evident  distress,  but  did  not  attempt 
to  console  her.  There  is  a  time — God  forgive  them, 
poor  lambs ! — when  all  young  people  think  of  them- 
selves only.  Happy  for  them  if  their  elders  have  self- 
control  enough  to  recognize  this — to  remember  the  time 
when  they  also  went  through  the  same  phase  of  pas- 
sionate egotism — or  dual  egotism.  It  cannot  last  long. 
If  lovers  are  proverbially  selfish,  except  to  the  object 


NOT  A   LOVE   STORY.  213 

beloved,  husbands  and  wives,  fathers  and  mothers,  must 
inevitably  soon  learn  that  self-abnegation  which  is  the 
very  soul  of  marriage  and  parenthood,  which  often 
makes  even  the  most  thoughtless  boy  or  girl  into  a  noble 
man  and  woman. 

There  is  much  to  be  said  for  and  against  what  the 
worldly-minded  call  "  calf-love."  It  may  not  always 
endure — perhaps  best  not — for  a  man's  last  love  is  some- 
times deeper  than  his  first.  But  sometimes  it  does  en- 
dure ;  and  then  it  is  the  strongest  thing  in  life ;  I  have 
known  people  who  loved  one  another  in  their  teens,  and 
loved  on  for  sixty  years. 

By  a  sort  of  inspiration,  Susannah's  mind  leaped  at 
this  truth,  or  at  least  this  possibility ;  and  it  strengthened 
her  to  bear  what  to  no  mother  can  be  a  joy,  and  may  be 
a  sharp  pang — the  discovery  that  she  has  ceased  to  be 
her  child's  first  object — that  another,  perhaps  a  total 
stranger,  has  suddenly  become  far  closer,  far  dearer,  far 
more  important  than  she. 

Kestraining  a  sob,  and  compelling  herself  into  some- 
thing like  a  smile,  Mrs.  Trevena  held  out  both  her  hands 
to  her  boy.  He  seized  them,  and,  flinging  himself  on 
his  knees  before  her,  put  both  his  arms  round  her  waist 
and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  My  good  mother — my  kind  mother ! "  was  all  he 
could  say,  almost  with  a  sob. 

She  stroked  his  hair,  and  patted  his  shoulder. 

"  You  silly  boy — such  a  mere  boy  still !  And  she  such  a 
baby — little  Nanny,  whom  you  have  known  all  your  life." 

"  It  is  because  I  have  known  her  all  my  life — because 
I  am  quite  sure  of  her,  that  I  love  her  so.  She  would 


214  KING   ARTHUR. 

never  despise  me.  She  is  willing  to  marry  a  man  with- 
out a  name — and  therefore  for  her  sake  I  will  try  to  get 
one.  I'll  do  nothing  just  yet — as  I  told  you  ;  I  will 
stand  on  my  own  feet  and  make  myself  respected  as  I 
am.  But,  by  and  by,  I  will  move  heaven  and  earth  to 
obtain  my  own.  For  Nanny's  sake — for  Nanny's  sake ! 
And,  if  I  fail,  I  shall  still  have  her — and  you." 

"  Her  "  first — "  you  "  afterwards.  Well !  it  was  right — 
it  was  natural ;  the  law  of  nature  and  of  God.  Arthur 
was  unconscious  of  having  said  it — nor  did  his  mother 
betray  that  she  had  heard  it.  It  was  the  final  love-sac- 
rifice which  all  mothers  must  make ;  if  the  smoke  of  it 
ascends  to  heaven,  God  accepts  it,  and  that  is  enough. 

"  You  are  not  vexed — not  angry  with  me,  mother 
darling  ? "  said  Arthur  anxiously. 

"  How  could  I  be  ?  You  are  a  couple  of  little  geese 
— that  is  all.  And  you  will  probably  have  to  wait  for 
years  and  years." 

"Never  mind,"  laughed  Arthur,  now  quite  happy — 
actually  radiant  in  his  happiness — so  handsome,  so  grace- 
ful, that  more  than  ever  it  was  an  actual  amazement  to 
her  how  he,  her  King  Arthur,  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes — 
the  sort  of  preux  chevalier  whom  most  girls  fall  in  love 
with — he,  who  might  have  chosen  anybody,  should  have 
gone  and  chosen  Nanny — poor  little  Nanny  ! 

"  You  will  speak  to  her  ? "  pleaded  he.  "  She  is  gone 
to  bed,  but  she  is  not  asleep,  I  am  sure.  You  will  not 
wait  till  morning — you'll  go  now,  mother  ? " 

"  Certainly."  And  Mrs.  Trevena  rose,  steadying  her- 
self by  the  back  of  her  chair — and  feeling  blindly 
for  the  door  handle.  Then  she  turned.  "  I  think,  dear, 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  215 

we'll  not  tell  papa  of  this  just  jet — not  till  after  Sun- 
day." 

When  they  did  tell  him  Mr.  Trevena  was,  as  his  wife 
had  foreboded,  a  little  vexed.  He  took  the  masculine 
and  worldly  view  of  the  subject,  and  did  not  like  being 
disturbed  out  of  the  even  tenor  of  his  way  by  any  such 
youthful  nonsense. 

"  Foolish  children ! — they  have  not  a  halfpenny  be- 
tween them,"  said  he.  "  And  the  idea  that  at  their 
age  they  should  know  their  own  minds — it's  ridiculous ! " 

"We  did,"  said  Susannah  softly.  And  she  may 
surely  be  forgiven  if,  looking  at  the  Austin  Trevena  of 
to-day,  she  remembered  the  Austin  Trevena  of  forty 
years  ago,  and  thought  perhaps  it  might  have  been  bet- 
ter for  both  had  he  too  been  "young  and  foolish" — if 
they  had  trusted  themselves  and  Providence  ;  married  as 
early  as  prudence  would  allow,  spent  the  flower  of  their 
days  together,  not  apart ;  fought  through  their  cares  and 
enjoyed  their  blessings;  and  lived  to  "see  their  chil- 
dren's children  and  peace  upon  Israel."  Such  might  be 
the  lot  of  Arthur  and  Nanny — and,  remembering  her 
own  lot,  she  was  glad  of  it. 

"Husband,"  she  said, and  put  her  arm  on  his  shoulder 
with  the  love  that  had  never  failed  him  all  his  life — never 
would  fail  him  till  death — "  we  did  not  make  this  mar- 
riage— it  made  itself,  or  God  made  it — who  knows '( 
Don't  you  think  we  had  better  leave  things  alone,  and 
let  the  young  people  settle  their  own  affairs  ? 

A  sentiment  which  coincided  so  much  with  the  rector's 
dreamy,  lazy  ways  that  possibly  he  was  glad  in  his  heart 
to  leave  things  alone.  He  told  his  niece  "  she  could  do 


216  KING  ARTHUR. 

as  she  liked,"  and  Arthur  too ;  went  back  to  his  books 
and  forgot  all  about  it.  In  his  gentle  undemonstrative 
way  Austin  was  the  tenderest  of  husbands — the  kindest 
of  men  ;  but  with  him,  as  was  not  unnatural,  the  days 
of  romance  were  all  over  and  done. 

"Were  they  with  Susannah  ?  are  they  ever  with  any 
real  woman  who  recognizes  that  love  is  the  heart  of  life ; 
and,  for  either  man  or  woman,  its  utmost  salvation,  its 
most  perfect  joy  ? 

Arthur  had  only  a  few  days  at  home  before  he  started 
for  Andermatt  with  his  friend,  who  was  also  a  lawyer, 
and  capable  of  transacting  the  necessary  legal  business. 
The  boy  arranged  all  with  the  cleverness,  shrewdness, 
and  firmness  of  a  man.  Between  whiles  he  went  about, 
also  like  a  man,  with  the  girl  he  had  chosen  ;  beamingly 
happy,  and  not  a  bit  shy  or  ashamed.  His  mother 
watched  him  with  a  full  heart — she  also  "  had  been  in 
Arcadia." 

But  it  was  a  sore  heart  too.  She  had  always  liked 
]Nanny,  and  been  very  kind  to  her;  but  kindness  and 
liking  are  not  necessarily  love.  People  of  wide  sym- 
pathies and  active  benevolence  are  often  misconceived, 
and  supposed  to  love  everybody.  They  do  not.  They 
feel  kindly  to  everybody,  but  they  only  love  one  or  two 
people  in  the  whole  course  of  their  lives.  It  is  like  a 
man  putting  all  his  money  in  one  bank ; — if  the  bank 
breaks — and  it  does  break  sometimes — God  help  him ! 
He  may  carry  on  business  very  successfully  outside,  but 
at  heart  he  is  bankrupt  all  his  days. 

One  of  these  rare  loves — strong  as  rare — in  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena's  life,  had  been  the  maternal  passion  for  her 


NOT   A  LOVE   STORY.  217 

adopted  son.  His  going  to  school  and  college  had  made 
him  less  a  part  of  her  daily  existence  than  if  he  had  been 
a  girl ;  but  his  falling  in  love  was  a  greater  blow  to  her 
than  any  daughter's  would  have  been.  In  spite  of  the 
cruel  jocularities  against  mothers-in-law,  many  a  woman 
inclines  tenderly  to  the  man  her  daughter  marries ;  often 
loving  him  like  her  own  son.  For  "  her  daughter's  her 
daughter  all  her  life  " — and  she  gains  a  son  besides.  But 
when  her  son  marries  she  loses  him  in  degree,  and  some- 
times does  not  gain  a  daughter. 

Watching  Nanny,  and  wondering  more  and  more  how 
Arthur  ever  came  to  choose  her — yet  .plain  little  women 
have  ruled  paramount,  and  for  life,  in  the  hearts  of 
clever  and  handsome  men — Susannah  sometimes  felt  as  if 
she  could  never  love  the  girl :  and  then  again  as  if  she 
must  love  her,  because  Arthur  did.  It  was  a  desperate 
struggle — a  small  "tragedy  in  a  tea-pot" — but  none  the 
less  a  tragedy  ;  and  all  the  more  pathetic  that  it  went  on 
in  the  silent  heart  of  an  old  woman,  in  whom  age,  which 
deadens  most  things,  had  never  yet  deadened  the  power 
of  loving  and  of  suffering. 

But  it  could  not  last — it  ought  not  to  last.  Best  to 
bury  it — and  let  all  the  sweet  charities  of  life  grow  up 
round  it,  like  grass  and  flowers  round  a  stone. 

The  houshold  at  the  rectory  soon  found  out  the  truth 
of  things :  so  did  the  village,  and  came  with  its  innocent 
congratulations  to  Mr.  Arthur  and  Miss  Nanny.  Mr. 
Hardy  came  too — sad,  but  resigned — saying  with  comical 
pathos,  "  It's  not  lost  that  a  friend  gets."  By  and 
by  all  the  neighborhood  brought  good  wishes  too, 
except  Tawton  Abbas,  where  Sir  Charles  still  lay  in  that 
10 


218  KING    ARTHUR. 

lingering  death  in  life  which  might  last  for  months  or 
years. 

Susannah  herself  expected  little  result  from  Arthur's 
journey  to  Andermatt ;  but  she  thought  it  right  he  should 
go ;  and  his  godfather,  who  expected  to  be  in  England 
shortly,  wrote,  insisting  on  the  same.  Nanny  said  noth- 
ing— all  she  cared  for  was  Arthur  himself.  Her  absorb- 
ing and  exclusive  devotion  to  him,  which  had  evidently 
existed  hopeless  for  years,  touched  his  mother's  heart 
more  than  anything  else ;  and  made  a  little  easier  that 
salutary  but  rather  melancholy  performance  of  "  playing 
second  fiddle,"  which  all  parents  must  learn,  soon  or 
late.  It  is  the  law  of  nature — and  therefore  the  law  of 
God. 

Mr.  Trevena  was  the  only  person  in  the  household 
who  dwelt  much  on  the  worldly  phase  of  the  matter ; 
thought  it  possible  that  Arthur  might  one  day  be  Sir 
Arthur  Damerel,  and  suggested  that  the  last  of  the  Tre- 
venas  would  prove  a  not  unsuitable  Lady  Damerel. 

"  And  then,  my  dear,  you  and  I  must  make  up  our 
minds  to  spend  our  old  age  together.  The  common  lot ! 
When  the  young  birds  are  flown  we  must  snuggle  down 
in  the  empty  nest.  I  dare  say  we  shall  bear  it." 

"  Oh  yes — we  shall  bear  it,"  smiled  Susannah,  as  she 
kissed'  him  tenderly — the  one  man  she  had  loved  all 
her  life  through.  She  knew  all  his  weaknesses — all  his 
faults,  as  he  knew  hers ;  still  he  was  himself,  and  she 
was  herself — nothing  could  divide  them  but  death. 
There  is  a  sentence — if  to  quote  it  be  not  profane — and 
yet  how  can  it  be  so,  to  those  who  try  in  all  things  to 
imitate  the  Divine  Master?  "Having  loved  his  own, 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  219 

he  loved  them  unto  the  end."  And  in  all  true  loves  we 
do  love — we  cannot  choose  but  love — unto  the  end. 

Arthur  wrote  from  Andermatt  that  he  had  "  found  all 
he  hoped  for,  and  done  all  he  wanted  to  do."  Nothing 
more.  Explanations  could  wait.  He  and  his  companion 
meant  to  "  have  their  fling,"  for  a  week  or  two ;  it  might 
be  many  years  before  he  could  afford  more  foreign  trav- 
eling, and  then  he  would  come  home.  Home  to  the 
brightest  and  best  bit  of  a  young  man's  life,  or  a  girl's 
either — when  their  lot  is  all  settled,  their  love  openly 
acknowledged;  and  they  start,  a  betrothed  pair,  with 
everybody's  good  wishes,  to  begin  the  journey  of  life 
together. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Trevena  to  Nanny,  as  they  sat 
at  their  sewing,  though  the  younger  did  it  chiefly  now, 
for  Susannah's  eyes  were  fast  failing  her — "  My  dear, 
what  day  is  Arther  coming  home  ? "  It  was  a  new  thing, 
a  rather  sore  thing,  for  the  mother  to  have  to  ask  any- 
body else  "  when  Arthur  was  coming  home  ? "  but  the 
reward,  to  a  generous  heart,  was  Nanny's  bright  up-look, 
and  happy  blush. 

"I  think,  aunt,  he  will  be  here  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row. But  I  told  him  he  was  not  to  come  till  he  had 
done  all  he  wanted  to  do,  and  seen  everything  he  wanted 
to  see." 

This  proud  maidenly  possession  of  a  man,  not  to 
queen  it  over  him  in  selfish  vanity,  but  to  use  her  influ- 
ence nobly,  for  his  good  and  hers — it  was  a  pretty  thing 
to  see ;  and  it  comforted  the  mother's  heart.  She  knew 
well  that  a  man's  whole  future  often  depends  upon  the 
sort  of  girl  he  falls  in  love  with  in  his  first  youth. 


220  KING   ARTHUR. 

"I  agree  with  you,  my  dear;  still,  if  you  write  again, 
tell  him  I  think  he  should  come  home  at  once.  His 
godfather  is  in  England,  and  will  be  here  to-day.  You 
remember  Dr.  Franklin  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes."  There  was  nothing  connected  with  Arthur 
which  Nanny  did  not  remember.  Hers  was  the  most 
entire,  absorbing  devotion,  reasonable,  not  blind  devotion, 
that  any  girl  could  give;  and  day  by  day  it  was  rec- 
onciling Arthur's  mother  to  things  as  they  were — even 
though  they  were  wholly  contrary  to  what  she  had  ex- 
pected or  desired.  She  could  not  withstand  the  pathetic 
appeal  of  Nanny's  dark  eyes — like  that  of  Helena  to  the 
Countess,  in  AWs  well  that  ends  well. 

"Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love 
For  loving  where  you  do. " 

Also,  another  thing  reconciled  her — a  thing  hard  to 
learn,  but  when  learnt,  bringing  with  it  a  solemn  peace. 
Dearly  as  she  loved  her  own,  she  felt  she  could  take  care 
of  them  no  more.  As  she  watched  Nanny  flitting  about 
like  a  little  brown  bird,  carrying  out  her  orders,  suggest- 
ing things  she  had  forgotten,  and  doing  everything  she 
was  unable  to  do,  the  wife  and  mother  learnt  to  say  to 
herself,  «  So  be  it ! " 

When  Dr.  Franklin  arrived  she  made  Nanny  explain  to 
him  the  position  of  Arthur's  business  affairs ;  which  the 
girl  did  so  clearly  and  well  that  the  old  man — he  was  quite 
an  old  man  now — patted  her  on  the  shoulder  approvingly. 

«  My  godson  has  fallen  on  his  feet,  whether  he  ever  is 
Sir  Arthur  or  not.  When  you  write,  tell  him  I  say  so." 

But  fortunately  there  was  no  need  of  writing.     Next 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  221 

day  Arthur  came  home,  and  Dr.  Franklin's  evidence, 
conclusive  as  to  identity,  and  including  Lady  Damerel' s 
own  admission  that  the  child  was  hers  and  her  husband's, 
was  formally  taken. 

"  Depend  upon  it,  if  she  finds  out  I'm  here,  she'll 
shake  in  her  shoes,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  laughing  his 
silent  laugh.  And  truly,  when  the  same  evening,  the 
Tawton  Abbas  carriage  passed  him,  as  he  stood  leaning 
on  the  rectory  gate,  the  face  that  looked  out  from  it 
turned  deadly  pale.  But  Lady  Damerel  made  no  sign 
of  recognition.  On  both  sides  there  seemed  an  armed 
truce,  to  last  as  long  as  fate  would  permit — which  could 
not  be  very  long  after  all. 

NOT  was  it.  Two  days  after,  when  the  young  people, 
shy,  but  proud,  and  unspeakably  happy,  had  slipped 
away  for  their  daily  walk  together,  leaving  Dr.  Franklin 
and  Mrs.  Trevena  sitting  in  the  garden,  and  the  rector 
in  his  study — there  came  a  message  from  Tawton  Abbas. 
The  church  bell  suddenly  began  to  toll,  as  it  had  tolled 
for  centuries  on  the  death  of  any  Damerel — once  every 
minute  for  every  year  of  age.  They  counted  seventy- 
three  strokes.  It  was  Sir  Charles  Damerel  then  who 
had  gone  to  his  rest. 

All  met  on  the  doorsteps  of  the  rectory,  listening. 
Arthur  removed  his  hat,  and  stood  bareheaded,  with  a 
grave,  composed  air,  till  the  bell  ceased — then,  taking 
Nanny's  hand,  led  the  way  indoors.  They  all  followed, 
for  they  knew  the  crisis  was  come. 

A  long  consultation  followed.  "  Le  roi  est  mort — 
vive  le  roi ! "  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  heir- 
presumptive  would  immediately  claim  his  rights,  and 


222  KING   ARTHUR. 

that  the  heir-apparent  must  claim  his,  or  else  for  ever 
hold  his  peace. 

There  were  two  ways  of  procedure:  one  was  that, 
supposing  the  remote  cousin  appeared  at  the  funeral, 
having  already  taken  possession,  to  bring  an  action  of 
ejectment  against  him  in  behalf  of  the  direct  heir :  the 
second,  involving  greater  difficulties,  was,  that  Arthur 
should  take  possession  of  Tawton  Abbas,  and  leave  his 
opponent  to  bring  the  action  of  ejectment.  But  this 
could  not  be  done  without  the  consent  and  assistance  of 
Lady  Damerel,  which  would  be  equivalent  to  a  public 
acknowledgment  of  her  son. 

It  was  decided  to  adopt  the  former  course.  "  If  I 
have  to  fight — fight  I  will,"  said  Arthur,  with  a  quiet 
resolution  that  surprised  everybody.  "  But  I  will  not 
do  it  untenderly.  She  shall  not  be  troubled  in  any  way 
till  after  the  funeral." 

This  was  fixed  for  an  earlier  day  than  the  village  ex- 
pected. Usually  the  Damerels  had  the  special  honor  of 
remaining  above  ground  for  a  week  or  more,  before  being 
left  to  sleep  with  their  fathers  under  Tawton  church. 
That  poor  Sir  Charles  should  be  buried  on  the  third  day, 
looked  far  too  unceremonious — almost  as  if  his  widow 
were  glad  to  get  rid  of  him.  And  when  it  was  noised 
abroad  that  the  heir  was  "  somewhere  on  the  continent," 
taking  one  of  his  numerous  sons  to  school  in  Germany, 
and  that  consequently  Lady  Damerel  would  be  the  only 
chief  mourner,  everybody  was  still  more  astonished. 

Except  Dr.  Franklin.  "  That  woman's  a  shrewd  one," 
he  said.  "  She  knows  on  which  side  her  bread's  but- 
tered. I  shouldn't  wonder " 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  223 

And  there  he  stopped.  Nobody  talked  very  much  at 
the  rectory,  except  on  commonplace,  extraneous  subjects, 
during  those  three  anxious  days. 

The  funeral  day  was  a  cheerless  one,  such  as  comes 
sometimes  in  September ;  a  settled  downpour,  when  it 
appears  as  if  the  weather  has  broken,  and  the  summer  is 
gone.  Nevertheless  half  the  neighborhood  assembled  in 
the  chilly  church — so  damp  and  cold  that  Nanny  en- 
treated her  aunt  not  to  attempt  to  go ;  and  carriage  after 
carriage  rolled  past  the  rectory  gate  on  its  way  to  pay 
respect  to  the  last  of  the  Damerels.  It  was  to  be  a  very 
fine  funeral,  everybody  agreed ;  Lady  Damerel  having 
spared  no  expense  to  make  her  sorrow  for  her  husband  as 
public  as  possible. 

The  long  procession  had  been  already  seen  wending 
along  the  park,  and  the  rector  was  putting  on  his  canon- 
icals, when  Arthur  came  into  the  study,  dressed  in  com- 
plete mourning. 

"My  boy?"  said  Mrs.  Trevena  questioniugly.  She 
only  questioned  now — she  never  controlled :  he  had  a 
right  to  judge  and  act  for  himself;  and  she  knew  he 
would  do  both  rightly. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  tenderly.  "You  do  not 
object  ?  I  am  going  to  my  father's  funeral."  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  ever  used  the  word :  he  said  it  now 
with  a  lingering  pathos,  as  we  speak  of  something  wholly 
lost — the  loss  of  which  teaches  us  what  it  might  have 
been.  "  I  ought  to  go,  I  think.  He  was  a  good  man. 
There  is  one  thing  I  shall  find  it  hard  to  forgive;  that  I 
was  prevented — she  prevented  me — from  ever  knowing 
my  father." 


224  KING    ARTHUR. 

"  But  that  gained  you  a  mother,  young  fellow ! "  said 
Dr.  Franklin  sharply.  "  You've  won  much  more  than 
you  lost." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Arthur  earnestly.  "And  if  all 
fails,  I  shall  come  home  here,  and  then  go  to  Oxford  and 
earn  my  honest  bread,  with  Nanny  beside  me."  It  was 
Nanny's  hand  he  took — Nanny's  eyes  he  looked  into 
when  he  spoke.  Then,  as  with  a  sudden  thought,  he 
added — "  But  I  shall  be  my  mother's  son  all  my  days." 

Again  he  kissed  her,  and  his  mother  kissed  him  back 
again ;  nor  hindered  him,  nor  grieved  him,  by  a  single 
look  or  word. 

They  all  went  to  the  church  together,  for  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena  refused  to  be  left  behind.  Arthur  did  not  enter  the 
rectory  pew  with  the  rest,  but  stood  at  the  entrance, 
waiting  till  the  body  was  borne  in  to  those  solemn  sen- 
tences which  all  of  us  know  sadly  well,  beginning — 
"  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman." 

After  it  walked  Lady  Damerel,  in  her  widow's  weeds ; 
erect  and  steady,  but  alone — in  that  utmost  heart-loneli- 
ness which  a  woman,  if  she  has  a  heart  at  all,  can  feel, 
when  husband  and  children  have  gone  to  the  grave  be- 
fore her,  and  she  only  is  left,  to  a  desolate  old  age.  As 
she  passed  him,  she  looked  up  and  saw  Arthur.  He  did 
not  look  at  her — his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  coffin  :  but 
at  some  slight  gesture  she  made  he  stepped  forward — 
as  he  might  have  intended  to  do  in  any  case — and  took 
his  place  beside  her. 

The  service  continued.  The  body  was  lowered  into 
the  vault — the  solemn  spadeful  of  "earth  to  earth" 
rattled  down — heard  distinctly  through  the  dark,  chilly 


NOT  A   LOVE   STOET.  225 

church ; — there  was  the  final  pause — the  last  gaze  into 
that  gloomy  cave  of  death — and  Lady  Damerel  turned 
to  go. 

"  She's  fainting,"  Arthur  heard  somebody  whisper. 
Whether  she  took  the  help,  or  he  offered  it,  he  never 
knew;  but  her  hand  was  upon  his  arm,  and  leaning 
heavily,  almost  staggering  sometimes,  she  passed  through 
the  respectful  if  not  very  sympathetic  crowd,  to  the 
church  door.  There,  almost  in  her  path,  stood  the  gaunt 
figure  of  the  Kentucky  doctor ;  who  knew — had  known 
— everything. 

Perhaps  the  woman  felt  that  all  was  over,  and  de- 
termined to  do  with  a  good  grace  what  she  would  soon 
be  compelled  to  do ;  which  after  all  might  be  the  best 
and  most  prudent  thing  for  her  to  do.  Or — may  be — 
let  us  give  her  the  benefit  of  the  doubt — even  thus  late, 
nature  was  tugging  at  her  heart.  When  Arthur  had  put 
her  into  the  carriage,  and  was  lifting  his  hat  with  a 
formal  farewell  bow,  she  leant  forward  and  seized  his 
hand. 

"  Come  home  with  me !  You  must — it  is  necessary. 
I  will  confess ; — you  shall  claim  your  rights — everything 
will  be  yours." 

The  boy  hesitated  a  moment — he  was  a  man  and  yet  a 
boy ;  he  turned  very  pale,  and  looked  round — was  it  for 
his  real  mother  ?  who  was  not  the  woman  that  bore  him. 
But  Dr.  Franklin  behind  said  imperatively  "  Go  ! " — 
and  he  went. 

What  the  two  said  to  one  another  when  shut  up  in 
the  carriage  together,  or  what  revelations  were  made 

that  afternoon,  when  Dr.  Franklin,  having  been  sent  for 
10* 


220  KING  ARTHUR. 

by  the  family  lawyer,  who  of  course  had  come  for  the 
funeral,  went  up  to  Tawton  Abbas,  was  never  clearly 
explained,  but  before  nightfall  the  news  had  run  like 
wildfire  through  the  village  that  Arthur  Trevena,  the 
rector's  adopted  son,  had  been  suddenly  discovered  to  be 
Sir  Arthur  Damerel,  Sir  Charles's  lawful  heir.  Of 
course  a  large  amount  of  fiction  was  mingled  with  fact. 
The  presumptive  heir — the  second  cousin  once  removed 
— arrived  post-haste  next  day — just  too  late  for  the  hasty 
funeral — (she  was  a  clever  woman,  Lady  Damerel!) — 
and  it  was  said  he  intended  to  fight  it  out  by  law.  How- 
ever, either  he  became  convinced  that  litigation  was 
hopeless ;  or  had  no  money  to  waste  among  lawyers ;  he 
swallowed  his  disappointment  and  stayed  on  placidly  at 
Tawton  Abbas.  He  even,  some  weeks  after,  assisted 
cheerfully  at  the  ringing  of  bells,  the  roasting  of  oxen, 
and  other  festivities — which  indicated  the  delight  of  the 
neighborhood  that  "  poor  Sir  Charles  "  was  not  the  last 
of  the  Damerels. 

The  strange  story  was  a  nine  days'  wonder ;  and  then 
it  all  died  out.  It  was  nobody's  business  except  the 
Damerels' ;  and  they  were  satisfied.  The  widow — who 
had  been  seen  by  nobody  except  the  lawyers — went 
away  "  for  change  of  air,"  and  Sir  Arthur  Damerel 
reigned  in  his  father's  stead — the  father  who  had  never 
known  of  his  existence.  It  was  a  strange  chapter  in 
human  life — so  strange  that  at  first  hardly  anybody  be- 
lieved it ;  until,  one  by  one,  everybody  got  used  to  it, 
and  accepted  things  as  they  were,  without  over-much 
questioning. 

As,  of  course,  all  this  change  was  likewise  accepted  at 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  227 

the  rectory.  Mrs.  Trevena  looked  a  trifle  paler — she 
had  become  excessively  pale  and  thin  within  the  past 
year ;  "  worn  to  a  shadow,"  people  said ;  but  she  an- 
swered, with  a  peaceful  smile,  all  the  questions  and  con- 
gratulations. Only  she  never  spoke  of  Sir  Arthur  except 
as  "  my  son." 

There  was  another  thing  which  she  had  to  settle  ;  and 
be  also  congratulated  upon,  and  that  was  "  my  son's 
marriage." 

"  You  couldn't  expect  me  to  live  in  that  big  house  all 
alone,  mother,"  pleaded  Arthur — with  amusing  simplic- 
ity. "  And  since  I  cannot  possibly  get  you,  why  not  let 
me  have  Nanny  to  take  care  of  me  ?  " 

It  did  indeed  seem  the  wisest  plan.  Though  they  were 
both  so  young — only  nineteen  and  twenty-one — still 
they  were  not  "  foolish  ; "  for  both  had  already  battled 
with  the  world  sufficiently  to  gain  premature  wisdom. 
And  perhaps  after  all,  though  this  generation  does  not 
think  so,  early  marriages,  when  not  rash  or  improvident, 
are  best.  Our  grandfathers  and  grandmothers,  who  did 
not  wait  to  be  rich,  but  began  life  simply,  as  their 
parents  did  before  them,  and  spent  together  their  fresh, 
unstained,  hopeful  youth,  their  busy  maturity,  their 
peaceful  old  age,  were  probably  happier  than  we  of  to- 
day ;  who  fritter  away  in  idle  flirting,  or  more  harmful 
things,  our  blossoming  time  ;  marrying  late  in  life  with 
all  the  heart  gone  out  of  us ;  or  never  marrying  at  all, 
and  then  arguing  sagely  that  to  "  fall  in  love  "  is  a  folly, 
and  to  marry  is  little  less  than  a  crime. 

Mrs.  Trevena  did  not  think  so — would  not  have 
thought  so,  even  had  her  son  been  still  "  poor"  Arthur 
P 


228  KING   ARTHUR. 

Trevena.  When,  now  he  was  Sir  Arthur  Damerel,  ho 
began  to  speak  of  his  marriage,  all  she  suggested  was 
that  he  should  wait  a  year,  out  of  respect  to  the  dead ; 
and  to  gain  a  little  experience  in  managing  his  large 
property,  for  the  good  of  the  living. 

"  A  year  is  a  long  time,"  said  he  disconsolately. 

"  Is  it  ? "  answered  his  mother,  with  a  strange,  far- 
away look,  which  startled  him  a  moment,  till  he  saw  it 
melt  into  her  usual  smile.  "  Then  let  it  be  six  months, 
my  dear.  Leave  me  Nanny,  and  stay  you  beside  me 
for  just  six  months  more.  Then — do  as  you  will." 

For  the  young  people,  neither  of  whom  had  seen  the 
world,  were  determined,  as  soon  as  ever  they  were  mar- 
ried, to  go  abroad  and  enjoy  themselves;  visiting  Swit- 
zerland, Italy — perhaps  even  going  on  to  Constantinople  ! 
They  were  so  happy — so  full  of  plans — so  resolved  to  do 
no  end  of  good  on  their  estate ;  but  they  wanted  just 
this  little  bit  of  pleasure — a  harmless  frolic  together 
before  they  settled  down. 

And  so  the  winter  passed,  very  happily ;  Arthur  be- 
ing at  the  rectory  almost  as  much  as  when  he  used  to  live 
there ;  but  never  failing  to  go  back  of  nights  to  his  large 
dull  house.  He  also  spent  conscientiously  every  fore- 
noon in  his  study  with  his  steward,  repairing  much  evil 
that  had  come  about  in  his  father's  days,  and  planning 
no  end  of  good  to  be  done  in  his  own.  A  happy  time ! 
full  of  hope  for  everybody.  Nobody  noticed  much  that 
Mrs.  Trevena  was  the  only  one  who  smiled  more  than 
she  spoke,  and  made  no  personal  plans  for  the  future 
at  all. 

She  had  had,  ever  since  Sir  Charles's  funeral  in  the 


NOT   A   LOVE    STORY.  229 

chilly  church,  her  usual  winter  cold  ;  rather  worse  than 
usual ;  for  she  ceased  to  fight  against  it ;  left  everything  to 
Nanny  and  gradually  kept  entirely  to  the  house,  then  to 
her  own  room — a  new  thing,  which  her  husband  could 
not  understand  at  all.  He  went  wandering  about  the 
rectory  like  a  spirit  in  pain  ;  or  walked  out  into  the  vil- 
lage and  wandered  there,  paying  necessary  or  unnecessary 
pastoral  visits,  and  telling  everybody  "  that  Mrs.  Trevena 
had  a  bad  cold,  but  would  certainly  be  about  again  in 
a  day  or  two."  And  sometimes,  strong  in  this  expecta- 
tion, when  he  returned  he  would  come  to  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  and  call  "  Susannah  !  "  just  as  usual ;  ex- 
pecting her  to  come,  as  she  always  used  to  come,  nobody 
knew  from  where — till  he  bethought  himself  to  go  in 
search  of  her  to  her  room.  There  he  always  found  her, 
and  sat  down  content  by  her  side. 

But,  beyond  that  room,  always  so  cheerful  and  bright 
— with  sunshine  if  there  was  any  sun,  with  firelight  if 
there  was  none,  the  house  and  he  had  to  endure  her  ab- 
sence, to  learn  to  do  without  her.  Under  Nanny's  charge 
all  went  on  as  usual — "  the  old  original  clock-work  way," 
Arthur  called  it,  and  hoped  his  wife  would  keep  his  big 
house  as  well  as  his  mother  had  kept  this  little  one.  But 
day  after  day  there  was  the  empty  chair  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  the  empty  sofa  by  the  drawing-room  fire,  the 
work-box  that  nobody  opened,  the  book  that  nobody 
read. 

Did  any  of  them  understand  ?  Did  Susannah  herself 
understand  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 

There  comes  to  us  all  a  time  when  we  begin  to  say, 
silently  of  course,  our  Nunc  dimittis.  We  are  tired — 


230  KING  AKTHUR. 

so  tired !  Perhaps  we  ought  not  to  be,  and  many  good 
people  would  reprove  us  for  being  so,  but  we  are  tired — 

"  We  have  had  all  the  joys  that  the  world  could  bestow, 
"We  have  lived,  we  have  loved." 

Or  else,  we  have  had  no  joys,  and  have  long  since  given 
up  the  hope  of  any.  Which  was  scarcely  Susannah's 
case,  and  yet  she  was  tired. 

When  they  left  her  alone — though  they  never  did  it 
for  long — she  would  lean  her  head  back  against  her 
pillows,  with  the  weary  look  of  one  who  waits  for  bed- 
time. All  about  her  was  so  busy  and  bustling.  One  day 
she  had  watched  her  husband,  hale  and  hearty,  march 
down  the  garden  to  inquire  about  the  first  brood  of 
chickens,  and  a  February  lamb. 

"It  will  soon  be  spring,"  she  said  to  herself,  and 
listened  to  what  seemed  like  a  thrush's  note  in  the 
garden ;  soon  drowned  by  Arthur's  piano  below  stairs, 
where  he  sat  playing,  with  his  "  little  Nanny "  beside 
him — the  girl  who  was  almost  as  good  as  a  wife  to  him 
already ;  taking  care  of  him,  guiding  him,  and  adoring 
him  by  turns.  "  How  happy  he  is — that  boy ! "  and  a 
tear  or  two  dropped  from  Susannah's  eyes :  human  tears ! 
"I  should  like  to  have  seen  his  children — just  one  little 
baby,  like  himself — my  little  baby  that  I  loved  so. 
It  would  have  been  the  old  days  over  again  ;  when  I  sat 
in  the  rocking-chair — he  in  his  night-gown,  sucking  his 
thumb,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  my  face,  and  his  two  little 
feet  in  one  of  my  hands.  Wasn't  he  a  pretty  baby  ? " 

The  last  sentence  was  said  aloud,  and  in  French,  to 
Manette — now  grown  stout  and  middle-aged,  but  with 


NOT   A    LOVE    STORY.  231 

hsr  faithful  Swiss  heart  still  devoted  to  her  mistress, 
creeping  up  on  e\7ery  excuse  from  her  cooking  to  see  if 
Madame  wanted  anything. 

No;  Susannah's  wants  were  few — as  they  always  had 
been.  She  was  an  invalid  who  gave  no  trouble  to  any- 
body. The  coming  Angel  came  so  stealthily,  so  peace- 
fully, that  no  one  ever  heard  his  step. 

"  Stop  a  minute,  Manette,"  she  said,  after  a  few 
minutes'  cheerful  chat.  "  I  wish  you  would  bring  the 
rocking-chair  out  of  the  nursery — I  mean  Miss  Nanny's 
room — dear  me,  how  stupid  I  am  growing !  I  should 
like  to  have  it  here." 

Manette  brought  it :  and  when  the  young  people  came 
up-stairs — which  they  did  very  soon,  for  they  were  not 
selfish  lovers — Arthur  greeted  it  with  a  shout  of  delight, 
and  declared  it  made  him  feel  "  like  a  little  baby  "  once 
more.  All  that  evening  he  insisted  on  sitting  down  on 
the  floor  at  his  mother's  feet ;  and  let  her  play  with  his 
curls,  or  what  remained  of  them,  for  he  was  a  fashion- 
able young  man  now,  and  had  his  hair  cut  like  other 
"golden  youths."  He  told  Nanny  ridiculous  stories  of 
his  childhood,  making  himself  out  to  be  twice  as  naughty 
as  he  ever  had  been  ;  forcing  even  his  mother  to  laugh, 
and  laughing  himself  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 
In  fact,  cheerful  and  content  as  they  always  were  at  the 
rectory,  they  had  seldom  spent  so  merry  an  evening  ;  the 
rector  included — who  came  up  from  his  Saturday  night's 
sermon,  put  off  as  usual  till  the  last  minute — and  begged 
to  have  tea  in  his  wife's  room. 

"Everything  seems  so  out  of  order  down-stairs  when 
you  are  not  there,  Susannah,"  said  he  restlessly.  "  You 


232  KING   ARTHUR. 

really  must  try  to  come  down  to-morrow.  Now,  pour 
out  my  tea,  Nanny." 

"  No — not  Nanny  this  time,"  her  aunt  said  gently,  and 
bidding  Arthur  move  the  table  closer,  she  poured  out  her 
husband's  tea,  and  gave  it  to  him  with  her  own  hand — a 
rather  shaky  hand;  as  they  remembered  afterwards,  and 
wondered  they  had  never  noticed  it,  nor  how  white  and 
quiet  she  sat,  long  after  the  meal  was  over. 

When  Arthur  had  kissed  his  mother  and  bade  her 
good-night,  and  Nanny  came  back,  extra  rosy,  from  the 
other  rather  lengthy  good-night  which  always  took  place 
at  the  hall-door — she  thought  her  aunt  looked  more  tired 
than  usual,  and  said  so,  offering  to  stay  beside  her  for  a 
while. 

"  Oh  no !  "  Mrs.  Trevena  answered.  "  Let  everybody 
go  to  bed,  except  Manette.  She  can  sit  with  me  till 
your  uncle  comes  out  of  his  study.  Nanny/' — holding 
the  girl's  hand,  and  looking  hard  into  her  face — "  you'll 
take  care  of  your  uncle  ?  And — no,  I  need  not  tell  you 
to  take  care  of  Arthur.  Kiss  me,  my  dear.  Good- 
night." 

That  was  all. 

An  hour  later,  Nanny  was  startled  out  of  her  happy 
sleep,  as  sound  as  a  child's,  to  see  Manette  standing, 
white  with  terror,  at  her  bedside.  That  had  happened 
which  nobody  feared  or  expected — except,  perhaps,  the 
sufferer  herself.  A  sudden  and  violent  fit  of  coughing 
had  produced  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  and  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena was  dying. 

Nanny  sprang  out  of  her  bed — she  had  had  long  expe- 
rience in  sick-nursing,  enough  to  know  that  this  was  a 


NOT  A  LOVE   STORY.  233 

question  not  of  days  or  hours,  but  of  minutes — that  there 
was  no  time  to  summon  anybody,  that  what  help  could 
be  given  must  be  given  at  once,  by  herself  and  Manette 
alone,  for  there  was  nobody  to  aid  them,  and  no  time  to 
call  anybody. 

Susannah  let  them  do  all  they  could.  She  was  quite 
conscious — smiled  her  thanks  several  times,  but  she 
never  attempted  to  speak  a  word.  Except  once,  when 
she  heard  Manette  proposing  to  fetch  Mr.  Trevena,  and 
motioned  a  feeble  but  decided  negative. 

"  No,  no  !  Save  him  from — from  anything  painful. 
Don't  let  him  see  me — till  afterwards." 

And  so  it  befell  that  the  breast  upon  which  the  parting 
soul  relied  was,  not  her  husband's,  not  Arthur's,  both 
so  tenderly  beloved,  but  Nanny's,  whom  she  had  always 
been  kind  to,  and  liked  much  without  actually  loving — 
Nanny,  the  blameless  daughter  of  her  lifelong  foe. 

There,  just  before  midnight,  while  the  rector  was  still 
busy  over  his  sermon,  and  Arthur  at  Tawton  Abbas  was 
sleeping  the  sleep  of  healthy,  happy  youth,  Susannah 
gradually  lost  all  memory  even  of  them,  all  consciousness 
of  the  world  about  her,  and  passed  peacefully  away  into 
the  world  unknown. 

When  the  two  who  to  her  had  been  so  infinitely  dear 
came  to  look  at  her,  there  was,  as  she  had  wished, 
"  nothing  painful " — only  a  beautiful  image  of  eternal 
rest.  Did  she  love  them  still  ?  Who  knows  ?  Let  us 
pray  that  it  may  be  so. 

None  can  mourn  for  ever  :  it  is  not  right  they  should. 
But  it  was  a  whole  year  before  Arthur  recovered  from 


234  KING   ARTHUR. 

the  blow  which,  to  him,  had  fallen  like  a  thunderbolt 
out  of  a  clear  sky.  The  young  seldom  realize  death 
unless  it  comes  quite  close  to  them.  It  had  never  en- 
tered his  mind  that  his  mother  would  die — until  she 
died.  He  could  not  imagine  existence  without  her. 
The  shock  was  so  great,  and  the  change  it  wrought  in 
him  so  piteous,  that  Nanny  was  for  a  time  absolutely 
terrified.  Both  the  young  people  seemed  to  grow  sud- 
denly old.  They  spoke  of  love  and  marriage  no  more, 
but  devoted  themselves  like  a  real  son  and  daughter  to 
the  desolate  man  who  had  lost  even  more  than  they. 

The  rector  was  very  quiet  from  first  to  last.  Whether 
he  grieved  or  not,  no  one  could  tell ;  from  the  day  of  her 
funeral  he  rarely  mentioned  his  wife's  name.  But  he 
often  went  wandering  mournfully  about  the  house  as  if 
in  search  of  her,  and  then  went  silently  back  to  his  books ; 
taking  very  little  interest  in  anything  else.  He  seemed 
to  have  suddenly  turned  into  an  old  man — quite  patient 
and  quite  helpless.  It  was  not  without  cause  that 
Nanny  always  answered  when  questioned  about  the  date 
of  her  marriage,  u  I  couldn't  leave  him ;  she  told  me  to 
take  care  of  him."  In  truth,  for  a  long  time  all  that  the 
forlorn  three  appeared  to  think  of  was  to  do  exactly  as 
she  had  said,  or  would  have  wished. 

And  they  were  doing  it,  they  felt  sure,  when,  as  the 
primroses  of  the  second  spring  began  to  blossom  over 
her  grave,  Arthur  took  courage  and  again  asked  for 
Nanny.  The  birds  were  singing,  the  little  lambs  bleat- 
ing, the  chickens  chirping — all  her  young  "  family,"  as 
Susannah  used  to  call  them — the  creatures  whom  she 
had  so  liked  to  see  happy  about  her. 


NOT   A   LOVE   STORY.  235 

"  She  would  like  us  to  be  happy,  I  know,"  Arthur 
said,  when  he  urged  the  question,  and  insisted  to  Nanny 
that  Manette  was  quite  able  to  take  charge  of  the  rector 
now,  and  that  she  herself  would  not  be  more  than  a  few 
minutes'  walk  from  her  uncle.  When  Mr.  Trevena  was 
told  all  this  he  assented  without  hesitation  to  the  mar- 
riage. It  did  not  much  matter  to  him  who  took  care  of 
him  now.  He  might  live  many  years  yet — the  book- 
worm's placid  self-absorbed  life ;  but  the  half  of  himself 
was  missing  for  ever. 

So,  one  bright  spring  day,  Arthur  led  his  bride  past 
his  mother's  grave.  His  mother  would  not  have  grieved : 
she  would  have  been  glad — as  is  the  instinct  of  all  un- 
selfish souls. 

"  On  that  grave  drop  not  a  tear  .  .  . 
Kather  smile  there,  blessed  one, 
Thinking  of  me  in  the  sun  ; 
Or  forget  me,  smiling  on." 

But  she  was  not  forgotten — she  never  could  be.  She 
had  lived,  long  enough  to  make  her  boy  all  that  he  was ; 
to  form  his  mind  and  character,  heart  and  soul :  to  fit 
him  for  the  aims  and  duties  of  life;  high  aims  and 
serious  duties;  for  Sir  Arthur  Damerel  is  not  the  sort  of 
man  to  hide  himself,  or  submit  to  be  hidden,  under  a 
bushel.  His  position  must  inevitably  bring  him  many  a 
responsibility,  many  a  trouble  and  care ;  but  he  will  fight 
through  all,  with  his  wife  beside  him — little  Nanny,  who 
has  given  the  neighborhood  an  entirely  new  and  revised 
edition  of  the  Lady  Damerel s  of  Tawton  Abbas.  Active, 
energetic,  kindly,  benevolent — she  is  so  well-loved  both 


236  KING  ARTHUR. 

by  rich  and  poor  that  no  one  stops  to  consider  whether 
or  not  she  is  beautiful.  Nor  does  her  husband.  To  him 
she  is  simply  "  little  Nanny." 

One  of  their  duties — not  always  a  pleasant  one — is 
their  yearly  visit  of  a  day  or  two  to  the  Dowager  Lady 
Damerel,  who  has  turned  very  religious,  and  is  made 
much  of  in  a  select  circle  who  have  taken  the  title  of 
"  Believers,"  one  of  their  points  of  belief  being  that  no- 
body can  be  saved,  except  themselves.  Such  a  creed  is 
the  natural  outcome  of  that  pleasure-loving  egoism 
which  had  characterized  her  earlier  days.  The  greater 
the  sinner,  the  greater  the  saint — if  such  sainthood  is 
worth  anything.  She  takes  very  little  interest  in  her 
son  or  his  belongings;  except  perhaps  in  one  very  hand- 
some baby  grand-daughter,  who  she  declares  is  just  like 
herself;  but  they  are  on  terms  of  the  utmost  politeness. 
Only  he  never  calls  her  anything  but  "  Lady  Damerel." 
He  feels  that  his  real  mother — "ray  mother,"  as  he 
always  speaks  of  her,  and  scarcely  a  day  passes  that  he 
does  not  speak  of  her — was  she  who  sleeps  in  that  quiet 
grave  within  sight  of  the  dining-room  window  of  the 
dear  old  rectory. 

And  Susannah,  had  she  known  this,  and  seen  how  her 
influence  will  descend  though  Arthur  to  his  children's 
children,  would  have  died  content,  feeling  that  those 
one-and-twenty  years  had  not  been  thrown  away — that 
she  had  not  only  made  her  own  life  and  her  husband's 
happy — but,  as  good  Dr.  Franklin  once  said,  she  had 
"  saved  a  soul  alive." 


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